


Men Cut From The Same Cloth: The Yakuza and the District Cop

by Storiesarelife1903



Category: Gintama
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Attempt at Humor, Disturbing Themes, Drama, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Humor, Gang Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Male Bonding, Male Homosexuality, Multi, Organized Crime, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-11-03 16:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 100,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10971267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storiesarelife1903/pseuds/Storiesarelife1903
Summary: The shower of rain was never enough to shed the blood covering his clothes, and the clothes were never enough to cover the demon crawling on his back, latching on with leaching teeth and razor claws.Gintoki clutched his sword in hand, staring up at the grey shower falling rapidly from the sky with an unreadable expression. But it was easy to predict the stone-cold colour and the lifelessness floating within them. Hijikata stared at his back, still, grasping his gun tightly without the will to speak.Together, their thoughts were a blank page - unready to be filled with mixed emotions and the pain of wondering whether they could look each other in the eye again.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Yakuza video game series
> 
> Seriously, those games are more fun than they should be. 
> 
> And if I happen to think of any references to add into notes at the end up each chapter, I'll write them in anyway - even when knowing that there's probably plenty of people reading this story who won't get any of them. 
> 
> Amazing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New story -- with an actual story!
> 
> My inspiration for this story came from the Yakuza video game series (if anyone knows it) and an overall interest in history. Plus, being a huge fan of Gintama, I thought that the genre would just fit with the series. I'll admit, I don't know how often I'll upload these chapters since I also have slice of life fics that I also want to update. 
> 
> All I know is that I'm going to take special care in writing each chapter so that the writing is decent and the story I have in mind is well-tailored. And what kind of Gintama fanfiction writer would I be if I didn't include my favourite pairing into the mix for fun? I'll try to develop everything as best as I can - but since this isn't a slice of life, the main focus will ultimately be the story. 
> 
> Gintoki and Hijikata will just be the icing on the cake.
> 
> Without further ado, I'll start writing the Prologue.

1988, East Shinjuku, Tokyo.

A warm evening, blinding to the eyes of tired men to boot, what with all the colourful lanterns on display at booths and stands lined towards the shrine like painted rations counters. A cluster of people blocked the paths from all directions with smiles, knowing they couldn't care less under such a cool breeze with nearly no wind floating around. There weren't a hell of a lot of excuses to stay cooped up inside tonight.

Children were the loudest. Even from up here, up the tall walk of stone stairs, their joyful cries and laughter rang in the eardrums and made standing around all the more tedious. Men in striking black uniforms wandered through the grounds, both on guard but weary all the same, trying so hard not to drag their feet behind them. Work had put them in a dampened mood. This particular job wasn't any better. Festival grounds had all the fun yet as long as these men carried their badge and duties around like a bag full of bricks, they were stuck here, keeping an eye out for trouble from any and every direction.

From behind the smoke of a cheap cigarette, Toushirou Hijikata let a thick puff of distasteful smoke creep past his lips into the air, where it disappeared.

Felt like a waste of time when mindful of previous summer festivals when trouble and chaos was barren. Whole families wandering around, playing games, old men drinking at the usual food stands, and young couples embracing the freedom of summer with a date before landing themselves in a cosy hotel somewhere. No one was conscious of crime or trouble taking place beyond the merriness beyond the displays and traditional games that flocked the grounds. For the police there lacked any motivation to be on high alert, but the permissive goings-on in and around the festival meant a more laid-back shift.

"Yo, Hijikata-san~. Have you tried Pop's yakisoba yet? All the old guys are flocking around his stand like cattle - so you should squeeze in there before it goes outta stock".

A strangely cheerful presence with a straight face and the mind of a child sadist at work approached Hijikata from behind where more stands stood, and crowds bellowed for whatever the owners were selling. Taking a peek over his shoulder, Hijikata reaffirmed his suspicions, and memory for that matter, that it was Sougo Okita who decided to bother him during his bleakly easy-going shift, slurping messy strands of noodles from a gaudy little cup.

"Sougo, we're supposed to be working. You wanna play around? Go back to high school".

Okita was a subordinate, and youngest member of the police force. The man had no boundaries when it came down to his childish nature and the roaring sadist lying in wake within him. He was happier than he could possibly deserve to be. The fact that he wasn't at all tense, and lacked any seriousness acted as a tick nipping at Hijikata's skin. The type to leave an itchy bruise for hours on end. Okita had no reason to be as seemingly cheerful as he was now. He was slacking on his duties as per usual and could not give two shits about what Hijikata had to say if he had the will to scold him.

"Don't be such a stiff, Hijikata-san. It's a festival - and I'm bored as hell out here".

"Deal with it. We're stuck here until everyone clears out. At least, you guys are".

"Hahh? You get to leave?"

Hijikata puffed out the last breath of smoke which was as liberating as can be in a job so stress-filled and tense. Whatever was left of his one and only stress relief was tossed down below onto a trimmed patch of grass where it burned away into ash and remnants underneath shrubbery and green.

"Gotta help Kondo-san with paperwork. After yesterday's incident, there's a lot of court dates to be made, a lot of papers to be signed. Consider yourself lucky 'cause you're the one that gets to go home in a couple hours".

Okita dug through his snack using a stained pair of chopsticks.

"Another all-nighter, eh? No wonder you're a stiff - Can never catch a break can you? Haha - Ah...!"

Just a few more noodle strands were curled around the pair of chopsticks in Okita's hand when the whole pot was snatched away with a stunning level of enraged force. So much so that Okita was temporarily paralyzed in order for his brain to register that Hijikata had stolen the only distraction he was allowed to have during his own godforsaken part-time shift. As mean-spirited and stingy as ever. Instead of throwing a tantrum about it, Okita smirked and contemplated just how thick-skinned Hijikata really was if he was irritated by a harmless remark such as that.

Hijikata's blowing a gasket was worth the hunger pains.

"Look, stop playing around and get back to work. I'm putting Harada in charge, so do as he says from here on out - Got it?"

"Yes, yes, Vice-Commander-san. You're the boss and all that".

A trash can sat cemented to the patch of grass below the stairs. Hijikata tossed the yakisoba pot inside on his way down, passing the people who paid no mind to how scary he was up close, especially when charging through the crowd. The most attentive individuals, apparently, were the children who lacked a moral compass, thereby shamelessly gawking at anything different from the cheery, healthy environment at home. Hijikata must have been beyond abnormal to the kids. And Okita took amusement in seeing them squeeze their mother's hands. They jittered and jolted as far away from Hijikata, behind their parent's backs to avoid the demon prowling festival grounds.

To be honest you can't blame anyone if they thought a demon had escaped from the haunted house set up near the shrine. Hijikata was as terrifying and ominous as they come. He wore that label like a golden star sticker to boot.

The muscles in Hijikata's neck and back were throbbing, the bones cracking whenever he attempted to stretch to relieve all the tension. Taking the past week or so, every ache and pain had worsened. Working day and night was a headache but the position Hijikata was in prevented him from complaining. A yawn here, a disdainful remark about paperwork there. Otherwise, according to his own principles, a man who isn't worth his salt might as well quit.

"Ah, you headin' back, Vice-Chief?"

Another flight of thick stone steps lay below, leading outside of the festival and into the streets where families continued to crowd around as a part of the festivities. On Hijikata's way out, he encountered a subordinate who was lucky enough to have the energy for this job and enough experience to put up with the boredom and strain in the first place. A good man, in other words. A damn good man.

"Yeah. You seen Harada around?"

"I'll inform him that you left as soon as I see him".

"Good man". Hijikata took the first couple steps down right before his subordinate reached out to him again at the last minute.

"Ah-...You want a ride back to the station?"

"Don't worry about that. It's not that far, anyway, so taking the car isn't necessary".

"Yes, sir".

Tokyo wasn't the most peaceful city in Japan. These days it was a nest for organised crime and white collar criminals. The odd thug would pressure a small business owner with a firearm, which are extremely difficult to come by in Japan, another good-for-nothing, or several, would get drunk after a long day's work and cause trouble by conducting an assault on an innocent bystander, or some woman would make a bad habit out of stealing from work. The real issues in this city were underground, hidden away from the public's eye and even the police.

What came off as strange was the unusually low profile that organised criminals were keeping these past few months. Hijikata suspected that, any minute now, a group of women could go missing, a drug ring could be built beneath their feet within the sewers of Shinjuku, or the whole city could be set aflame out of pure malice and boredom. Of course, two of those examples were mere exaggerations that Hijikata could imagine off the top of his head.

Walking his way through the streets, across pavements almost the same width as the roads, Hijikata found himself wandering almost aimlessly. Absent-mindedly he had picked out yet another cigarette from the pack stuffed away in his jacket pocket.

Then the weariness plugged itself into his head. A heavy yawn pushed through his throat, his eyes turned cloudy, stinging. Already tired and an all-nighter was still ahead of him. If a whole, average, nine hours of work was coming his way he took into consideration just how many cups of coffee he would be getting up to pour until he had a heart-attack or a fatal stroke. Two coffees, at least, and plenty of water. That would have to do the trick if he didn't want to pass out halfway into signing papers and filing them, in an orderly fashion, going over reports and so on with every other dull, tiring task.

From across the street, light bulbs blasting through the glass panes covering the place like a ring, a convenience store lay up ahead. Coincidentally Hijikata could walk on in and purchase everything he needed to keep him awake. The road was easily crossable. Not many cars covering the roads, so Hijikata walked right across with a fresh cigarette saved for later, stuffed into his pocket - avoiding his chain-smoking habit this once for the sake of his health. Whatever was left of it.

The bell above the glass door chimed upon entry. The tired old man who owned the place managed an idle glance in Hijikata's general direction at the chime of the door bell. Their eyes met. Hijikata didn't stubbornly hide a composed, not at all cheerful, smile to ward off any awkward vibes since he hadn't visited the store in a long time.

"O-oh, Hijikata-san; a pleasure to see you again".

"Hey, Gramps. Just dropping by to pick up some things for work".

The old man was squarely focusing on the television screen overhead. A small box displaying another down-to-earth and downright depressing news broadcast about flooding in another country and criminal activity in this one. All the while Hijikata fished through shelves for coffee and bottle water, a couple cup noodles, to make the night ahead easier on the body and mind. If Hijikata had to be perfectly honest with himself, he knew he might not be able to stay awake until dawn but he was a painfully stubborn and tenacious man.

"Another all-nighter, eh?"

"Yep".

"You be careful, Vice-Chief. Ya hear a lot about even the odd salary man keeling over because he did one too many all-nighters".

"Don't worry, Gramps. I'm not heading for that road just yet".

Ignoring the new barcode scanner hooked up to the register, the old man made a bold effort to count the prices and run up the equation in his head. He mumbled to himself under heated breath, his bony fingers tapping the caps of bottle water until he finally sprung to life with the price set in motion.

"Ah! That'll be nine-hundred-and-eighty yen, Hijikata-san".

"Haha, that was really something, Gramps".

"Not to toot my own horn, but math was my major back in college. Not look where I am! Hehehe!"

The old man cackled, crossing his arms without a care in the world. Most men would rather have their own desk in a skyscraper beyond a store as small and enclosed as this, but old age doesn't give you many options for work. As long as the old guy was happy, it wasn't worth calling the retirement home orderlies. Hijikata pulled out his wallet, grabbing a thousand yen note instead of fumbling with whatever amount of change he had scrambled together all month. Change that he had stuffed away specifically for vending machine money or purchases such as this.

"Thanks, old man". Hijikata grabbed the plastic bag when it was packed and ready, calmly protesting that the old man should hang on to the change.

"And thank _you,_ Hijikata-san. Please come to our store again".

"I will".

With silence in the store ensuing after that subtle, friendly goodbye, the broadcast displayed on the television above the counter flashed through the screen. The reporter in her shoulder-pad suit began speaking, though the quiet volume of the television impaired her voice. Up until the old man, intrigued, grabbed the remote and tabbed the volume button until he and Hijikata could both hear the reporter.

[...-sources say that the rise in loan sharks within Tokyo explains the increase in alleyway assaults - Many of which leaving victims hospitalised and penniless. A spokesperson of the Shinsengumi, district police, covered details of the investigation earlier this week at a conference, explaning that-].

"Terrible, ain't it?" The old man spoke over the report, crossing his arms and clicking his tongue in disappointed disbelief. "Men and women alike end up in debt and forced to face those parasites. Now look what's happen' - assaults, right under our noses - 'cause all those poor people can't pay 'em back".

"...".

"I don't blame you boys, you know? You're doin' everythin' ya can".

"Heh, funny you say that, Gramps. The longer you do this job, the more it feels like we're not doing enough".

"...".

"Thanks again. I, uh, should get goin'. Got a lot of work to do".

"Mm...You take care, Mr Vice Chief".

A nod and an idle wave of his hand, Hijikata walked straight out the store, plastic bag clutched in his hand with the weight of it pulling him down in a way that sent dull, hot shots of pain through his shoulder. Remarkably, long nights effected him a lot easier now than they did before when he was still training his body with dumbbells and occasional runs through Shinjuku Gyoen. How ironic but so unfunny.

The cigarette finally came out and the lighter lit it up between his lips. Having only one free hand, the other clutching the convenience store bag, proved to be more of a tedious challenge than it should have been.

From the horizon, above the glimmering flashes of orange and yellow, cheers and cries of excitement bouncing from the sky, fireworks began to explode and the crowds roared in awe. Civilians wandering the streets watched from the bleak pavements, under gaudy neon signs and displays. Fifteen minutes of erupting lights was blissful to many. On the rare occasion that it happened, all eyes would be focused on this one show when everyday life, before and after the summer festival, was so bland and uneventful.

The only one not smiling to the beautiful scenery lining the skies was Hijikata. His back was turned, and his feet walked on down the road without stopping. The cigarette between his lips burned up and the smoke reeked. Still, the relief clouded his worries. The sound of fireworks that would otherwise pop in your ears and send tingles down your back was numb to the Vice-Chief. Like these fifteen short minutes had deafened him.

In the quietest area of the street, in which Hijikata wandered, the performance in the sky grew all the more distant. The popping and the loud banging trailed off into nothing more than weak crackles, blocked off all of a sudden by the frighteningly distinct cry of a man who had been knocked to the ground.

The noise echoed through the tube of a narrow alleyway which Hijikata happened to meet on his way to the station. The officer stopped dead in his tracks, jolting, suddenly alerted by his own instincts to freeze up. Not necessarily an instinct of fear, but of awareness. Mere milliseconds afterwards he tense up and feel the responsibility to grow curious and investigate flow through his system like second nature. He was suddenly on high alert, and willing to take a peek through this tunnel if his suspicions of danger were correct.

No light lay on the other side of this narrow pathway. Not one. A darkened lot and the hard concrete of the pavement and walls creating a box, hidden away from bystanders who would normally walk past this place with disinterest. Not a single person was around - no one but Hijikata. When another cry echoed from the empty lot, another stranger's voice cursed aloud and swayed Hijikata to make a swift move forward. He dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushing whatever was left beneath his heel. The plastic bag left his grasp, also hitting the concrete with a thud.

Wisely, he pulled out his radio, striking the antenna out before quietly speaking into it for good measure.

"Harada, don't reply, but we've got a situation down here in the street - by the convenience store just a little ways from the festival. I'm gonna need you to send some of the boys down immediately. It could be our loan sharks".

He puzzled as to whether this was a gang fight or an assault - whichever didn't matter until Hijikata made an arrest if need be. In case these guys were more moronic than Hijikata first suspected, it was wise to be ready for a fight. Any weapon at his disposal was a necessity. A gun, his baton. If they had weapons of their own, there was nothing stopping Hijikata from pulling either out from their holsters.

The clunking of his footsteps echoed in the tunnelled alleyway, though the sky was as open to him as the possibility of necessary evil, police brutality, whatever the newspapers wish to call it, taking place. The sheer sound, no matter how quiet it was in reality, had Hijikata taking cautious steps. Not to an extent where he was cowering out of his duties by hiding away, just enough to surprise the bastards.

The oncoming chaos behind these walls suddenly turned quiet and unmoving. Upon reaching the lot, Hijikata readied himself behind the wall leading into the area, in a spot where he could read the faces the figures clustered together in this one blind spot, he was stunned once again - not just by the much louder cry of a fully grown man but - by said man smacking against the wall that lay in Hijikata's view. Right smack-bang into the corner with a chilling thud that indicated a broken bone or two. He flopped to the ground, groaning, still conscious and writhing in pain. A wound that had appeared on his head gushed with blood, and his eyes - glassy and unfocused - stared into Hijikata's for a mere moment before his head, too, flopped against the concrete.

Hijikata was more than prepared to pull out his baton, confident that he would need an offensive weapon if the situation lying before him was that dangerous. Years of training wasn't about to go to waste. If memory served him correctly, this one entrance was the only way in and out of the lot. As an officer who patrols the streets on a daily basis, this was boring common knowledge that would come in handy during a chase. However many men there were in this spot, there was absolutely no escape.

Hijikata readied himself for the worst case scenario. He had his wits about him and remained calm without an ounce of doubt or fear in his mind. What he immediately observed from the scene, upon peering out from behind the safety of a wall, was a lone attacker. One man standing above a mess of men groaning on their backs or stomachs in a heap of pain and sweat. You could smell the blood in the air like a poisonous gas. The possibility of multiple attackers was no longer a threat, but caution was still wise.

Keeping a fair distance away from the perpetrator, Hijikata moved out from behind the wall with his weapon at the ready.

"Police! Stay right where you are, asshole! If you make any stupid moves, I won't hesitate to knock you out".

Though partially hidden in the shadows, this attacker clearly had his back to Hijikata. Took a couple seconds, but the sparks flashing from the fireworks overhead revealed a tuff of silver hair that was bizarre enough to shine. The weapon grasped in his hand, a wooden sword, was bare of any blood. It was a strange feeling to be this unguarded in risky circumstances. Stupidity, depending on the circumstances themselves. But right then and there, Hijikata felt less compelled to hold up his guard, or his baton.

"Hahh? What's with that aggression? I thought you'd be a bit more informal with your insults, Mr Policeman".

Another firework shot up into the air, popping loudly, to ultimately reveal a little smirk under the shadows, like a funeral cowl. Maroon eyes past quite the glare that, admittedly, gave Hijikata chills down the base of his back and forearms. The grip of his weapon loosened as the full picture of this "attacker" was painted vividly in his mind.

"You still gonna beat me up with that thing or what?"

Sighing, Hijikata shoved the weapon back into its holster and out of sight.

"The hell are you doing here, causing more trouble for me? Eh, _Yaksha_?"

"Oi, don't call me that, dingbat. It's Gin-san -- _Gin-san_ to you, _Tax Thief_ ".

A clean suit and needlessly expensive watches never suited him; but the scruffy hair and rotten demeanour was Gintoki Sakata's entire being. The man standing before Hijikata was beyond what he would call a friend or even an acquaintance. The interactions were a firm mixed of frustration and, or, competitiveness - which said a lot about their relationship as a whole. Despite the ill-feelings they had towards each other like a never-ending grudge between two petty children, Hijikata lowered his weapon knowing that the annoyance was just that. No harm would come to him, but that didn't remove his duties from thought immediately after seeing, though figuratively spitting at, this familiar face.

"I think you should explain just what happened here. Better yet, I could cuff you and question you at the station".

"Oh get off your high horse". Gintoki scratched his head, rolling his neck afterwards, cricking the stiff bones back into place. Envy, oddly enough, came to Hijikata's mind while watching him relax his body with ease. "You think my job requires me to pummel a buncha nobodys?"

"It wouldn't surprise me".

"S-sir, did you d-do it?"

Behind a shallow dip in the wall, near where Hijikata stood, a foreign voice entered the scene. A young man around a college student's age peered his head out from his own cubby in the wall. A hiding place. As far as Hijikata's eyes could see, a poppy-shaped bruise marked his temple and his clothes were in a rough state from a session of tugging and pulling during, what anyone could clear read as, an assault. Though the danger was gone the man couldn't bring himself to look up at Gintoki, who stepped in seemingly at the last minute. Hijikata was observing every detail from where he stood, and the facts unfolded themselves with every passing word or pause.

"Yeah. See? These pricks won't be getting up anytime soon. You're safe".

"Tha-thank you very much!"

The boy cried out, his voice cracking, his body falling into a bow. Another pregnant pause, and it was painfully obvious what he was feeling from the sweat staining his brow and the quaking in his legs.

"Now get outta here. Go home and put some ice on that. This guy's a cop, so he'll take care of the rest - don't you worry".

"Y-yes!"

"No, wait a minute". Hijikata raised up his arm, pushing the young man's chest to effectively stop him dead in his tracks.

"Y-yes, sir?"

What was notable about this was the focus the man had on Hijikata, more than he did when briefly interacting with Gintoki. Though his eyes were teary, black and unfocused, he looked straight up at the authority figure before him with no real sign of anxiety around him. Perhaps a touch of nervousness, but that wasn't uncommon in Hijikata's case.

"We'll need to ask you a few questions at the station, get a testimony from you in order to put these guys away for good".

"O-oh...Um...".

"Come on, Hijikata-kun~"

Gintoki threw his weapon over his shoulders, holding it in place by his wrists.

"What? I'm just doing my job".

"Yeah, but the kid's just been pummelled by a buncha thugs. Let him go home for tonight to clean up and sleep".

"...".

Hijikata looked down at this kid with hesitance and his duty both in mind on totally different levels. In the background, beyond this empty lot, sirens whirred down the road and lights flashed in circles of red and blue. Gintoki was rolling his eyes, clicking his tongue once with little patience or concern for Hijikata's job left to spare.

"Shit...Sorry, Tax Thief, I've gotta run. You know, being questioned by the police-".

"-Excuse me?"

"-it's not really my thing so, er...Take care. You too kid!"

Gintoki dashed past Hijikata at full speed with the most pretentious grin glowing on his idiotic face. A shine in his eyes and all of a sudden he had the upper hand over Hijikata's main focus. When he made a break for the alley's exit, Hijikata twitched and jolted into action as though he were preparing to give chase and leave this physically damaged kid behind.

"Hey! Stop right there! I'm not finished with you!"

The battered young man quaking behind Hijikata was the one thing keeping his feet stuck to the ground. Dealing with him seemed like more of a priority when it came down to it rather than to go off of a redundant goose chase. Being the victim of this new case outweighed Gintoki's position as a witness to the crime at hand. A vein could've popped right out of Hijikata's head. Mild frustration was his weakness and it kept him on edge for a long time.

"Alright then". Hijikata tapped his foot begrudgingly, turning a-hundred-and-eighty towards this man with as much patience as he had enough time finish the moment of paperwork waiting in his office. "How bad are your injuries? Think you need to see a doctor?"

"N-no...They roughed me up a bit, but that man stepped in before these guys got a chance to break anything".

"Hm. Okay". His foot stopped, and his breath slowed at a more calming rate. "Listen, we'll see about giving you a ride home tonight. But you need to come into the police station tomorrow for questioning. Understand?"

"Y-yes, sir".

"Good man. Got anyone living with you at the moment?"

"Ah, my girlfriend...".

The sirens grew louder, echoing. People stopped to stare at the scene as police officers flooded this one hidden nook behind two abandoned buildings. Wasn't their business but you can't expect bystanders to even pretend to be completely numb to an incident that occurred beyond their usual comfort zones, like an assault or potential murder in a shady scene that so happened to lie right next door.

A single small squad of cops arrived on the lot, armed with guns and cuffs. The men scattered on the hard ground were brought to their feet. The conscious ones, anyway. The ones currently napping were prepped for a ride in an ambulance before facing court. Not much was explained over the radio, but all would come to a head as soon as Hijikata returned to the station with a statement at the ready.

Hijikata explained the situation as best he could right then and there, including the kid and the possibility of driving him home after the incident left him an emotional mess. Gintoki was definitely not left out of the equation. His involvement may have been just as vital as the kid's upcoming testimony, if he and his so-called subordinates had any idea who these men were. It was a pain to see him run off like that, but he wasn't running off scot-free. Hijikata wanted to make sure of that.

Rummaging around his last pack of cigarettes only to find it empty was a little annoyance among the pile of shit that this night was. Hijikata crushed it in his hand, tossing it out on his way back to the station, hoping to God that there was a nearby vending machine. Forget the coffee and bottled water. Without cigarettes, Hijikata knew he wouldn't last the night.

...

Four twenty-year-old-or-so guys were dragged into the station, beaten up and delirious as though their interactions with Gintoki were over in the blink of an eye. This fleeting flash in time that knocked them to the floor and left them in agony. Hijikata was staggering into the station with a mild throb in his head and a creak in his neck. Dim lighting, no phone calls going off, but many tired officers were taking on the night shifts that followed them like a maleficent ghost. The aura of the room was heavy as was the stench of coffee and deodorant that covered up one or two bad habits among the force.

Two young ladies sat on a waiting bench in cuffs, sporting skimpy dresses and glassy, red, unfocused eyes that had welled-up at some point and stained their make-up. Passing them by, there was a thick stench of booze and sweat that would make anyone grimace. But Hijikata wasn't one pay much attention to disasters that he was already used to. Nor did he take a glance at any of the holding cell doors - camouflaged in the wall's pale white paintjob as though the men and women in there were non-existent. Plenty of them had gone quiet from boredom or exhaustion from moping around, waiting for bail - God forbid if they were that lucky enough.

An office lay up ahead with a comfy old chair and an even thicker smell of smoke than the one in the main office. And it wasn't like Hijikata had the right or privilege to smoke in a public space just because it was his office. The fact that he was addicted to the stuff made it easier for the stench to cling to his clothes and the furniture in which he sat on.

Hijikata went straight for the door to take off his coat and get to work as soon as possible before the night was over. On his way there, he was met by his subordinate and long-time friend, Isao Kondo, who had just happened to have finished his shift for the night right this second, judging by the jutting of his key in his office's lock and the coat slung over his arm.

It was no surprise, nor a problem, that Kondo spotted Hijikata practically coming his way with his own office key in hand. And, naturally, the cheerful soul that Kondo was felt the overflowing need to pass on the Sunshine to his good friend.

"Oh, Toshi! There you are!" He exclaimed, happily slapping Hijikata's stiff back with enough force to put every little bone and muscle into the right place again. Unfortunately, nothing changed and the pain was still right there - right in the most uncomfortable spots.

"Ack! H-hey, Kondo-san. You mind not knocking me over?"

"Sorry, Toshi! Man, you look pretty tense. I mean you've come back later than expected, so something must have happened while you were out".

"Nah, just work. Something came up, so I'm a little later than I expected. But I'm here now, so I can get on with this paperwork".

"Still...Hey, don't you have some time off soon?"

"Ahh, tomorrow afternoon and the evening, I think".

"Great! Old Man Matsudaira's coming back tomorrow morning anyway, so why don't you and me go somewhere fun? I'll take ya to a cabaret club so you can drink, relax and talk to some-".

"-No".

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not interested in places like that".

"Of course you are! Any man would love the opportunity to talk to some lovely ladies - including you".

Kondo outstretched his arms, his smile becoming cheesier the longer he tried to debate with Hijikata over his sexuality. Honestly his tenacity was admirable. Close, but no cigar though.

"Look, Kondo-san, I appreciate you offering to show me a fun place, but a place like that isn't my scene. Besides, the women try to milk you dry with their over-priced, watered down drinks and itty bitty snacks. No thank you".

It was abundantly clear that the men at the station were speaking the truth when they say that the demonic Vice-Chief was a wet noodle gone grossly stiff and inedible. Women wouldn't go for a man who looks the other way constantly - They give up and move on. And after so many years, it was grim to say that Hijikata had given up too.

"...Whatever you say, Toshi. Clearly I can't force you".

"No, you can't. Now I'm gonna get to work. Have a good night, Kondo-san".

"You too...".

Hijikata unlocked and opened up his office door, disappearing into the darkness, rolling his strained shoulders once again with no relief to come. One last idea clicked in Kondo's head, but this was the last one.

"How about a massage parlour?"

"Nope! Definitely not!"

The office door slammed shut behind Hijikata's echoing, defensive protests that left Kondo staggering over many other weak ideas to get Hijikata out of the office and into a club, or bar - heck maybe a hotel room - with a young woman who could ease all his stress and make him forget for a while. Every idea in the book had worn itself out. And it was a bloody crying shame knowing that Hijikata wasn't going to even try to explore his options.

However, Kondo was far more tenacious than the average man. Though defeated this time, he took a breath and declared to himself that he would keep trying, for Hijikata's sake. It couldn't be a crying shame forever.

...

The stuffy uniform jacket finally came off. Not a lot of noise entered this particular room, even on a lively and energetic night like this, so that was always a plus. The light bulbs were crap, though. Switch it on and the light flickers and flashes a couple times before finally staying on. For the sake of saving a couple old bulbs, Hijikata stuck to the only two lamps in the room; a tacky old thing standing in the corner by his chair and a little desk lamp. He dropped his convenience store bag once more, by his desk. The coffee cans and water bottles inside rolled around and stretched the plastic out, leaving the bag open for Hijikata to grab anything he wanted whenever the hell he liked.

A ridiculously thick file sat atop his desk, soaking in the stench that dirtied his ashtray and lungs. The jacket was hung up, the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, and he finally pulled up a chair. The wheels squeaked and creaked over the bare flooring. After that, Hijikata bathed in the silence for a little while; returning to a calmer train of thought.

Out came the first water bottle, and out came the first line of paper work to sign and file away for the courts. He couldn't sit back and relax for two short minutes during even the longest nights. A burning red mark carved itself into his hand upon pulling the cap off the first bottle of water. The grip marks scalded his hand, and the water itself was now lukewarm under the stuffy conditions of the office. Sweat covered his neck, and soaked the back of his shirt the longer he sat there, scribbling dates, names, and other details with every new form that looked exactly the same as the last, and the one before that, and the one before...

Eventually his wrist would tire. His eyes would sting. His stomach would growl. Up off the chair and into the break room with a pot of instant noodles to ease the distraction in his stomach that groaned on the longer he waited around for the water to boil.

Going over similar details and cases made his eyes go cloudy. The headache finally came along too. Even if the headache was there, no matter how painful it was, Hijikata forced himself to flip the tap of a can of coffee. The taste was bitter and watered down. The early hours of the morning dragged on but the work was only half done. The fan above him, the little one built into the corner, was switched on when the heat became unbearable - another annoying distraction that kept Hijikata scratching around his neck and scalp.

No time to go home, no time to prepare another cheap instant noodle cup, and any more coffee would kill him in no time flat. Hijikata's head was throbbing, his arm was aching and his eyes were growing more and more unfocused as well as sore from hours of forcing himself to stay awake. If the room started spinning now he wouldn't have the motor skills to react to it. In this state he would simply go with the flow and proceed with his work like an old unoiled machine.

Unfortunately he didn't have the capacity to work like a machine. Not for the next four or five hours anyway.

...

A hot stench clung to the air. Hijikata could smell it when he finally gained consciousness amidst the same stuffy room he fell asleep in. He inhaled deeply to catch his breath. Squeezing his eyes shut was instinct when the natural lighting showering his office was too bright to handle. The same mild, albeit irritating, throbbing stuck in his head since last night like a disturbing, visual thought. The sensation of it kept his eyes closed and his head on the desk, buried in his pillow-like arms - which also ached. Each and every pain plaguing his body burned or clamped up with every red mark or tight muscle.

A moment of darkness coaxed him into finally opening his eyes once he was confident enough that the lighting wouldn't impair his vision. Hijikata sat up in his chair and leaned all the way back. He yawned deeply. The hot stinging in his eyes had worsened as sleep sand had crept its way under his eyelids to be rubbed out. Just knowing what kind of state he was in, his hair ought to be a complete mess too.

That wasn't the least of his problems. His desk had been cleared of files and paperwork while he dozed off. Even the old cigarettes from his ashtray had been chucked out by someone or other. Might have been Yamazaki since it was his job to collect all the files in the morning, first thing as instructed. What made that scenario worse was the realisation that the Vice-Chief was extremely strict about it and could not stress enough how much he needed Yamazaki to be punctual in the morning with those files. Hijikata groaned in his hands at the thought of being seen snoozing so vulnerably. But Yamazaki couldn't possibly have been stupid enough to blab about it to the other officers or administration. Surely not. Because he knew all too well what consequences would follow.

Hijikata patted down the tussle in his hair, adjusting his sleeves and tie thereafter. Unexpectedly, a knocking came at his door and set his mind on full alert despite how exhausted he really was, and appeared to be.

"Uh, come in". He called while pulling his shirt collar down, and straightening it out.

Out of everyone occupying the office this early in the morning, Yamazaki was the one to enter awkwardly with a sideward glance that didn't meet Hijikata's gaze right away.

"Ah, Vice-Chief, some college kid is here to see you. Something about the other night".

"Oh. Uhm, okay. I'll be out in a sec'".

"Right then. I'll let him know".

"Yamazaki".

Yamazaki was ready to slip out the door in a hurry. But not before Hijikata called out to him once more in a frighteningly stern voice.

"Y-yes, Vice-Chief, sir?"

"Did you get all the files from last night?"

"Uh! Y-yeah. Chief Kondo-san gave them to me this morning".

"Kondo-sa-...O-oh, yeah, he did. He came into my office and...Yeah. Fine. Just double-checking. Ahem. Now, er, get back to work. I'll be with the kid in a moment".

"Yes, sir".

An awkward nod and Yamazaki was out the door, shutting it behind him with care as not to disturb his boss any more today. Hijikata fell back into his chair and swayed off to the side, carelessly, letting the relief sink in first. Work was put off for another few seconds while Hijikata contemplated thanking Kondo for his consideration. Not everyone in the station gets to see their Vice-Chief so vulnerable. In fact, barging into his office is frowned upon so everyone just about kept their distance anyway. Kondo was the only one who ever caught him at his worst, including a train ride travelling for four long hours where Hijikata unintentionally borrowed his shoulder.

Kondo never said a word about it. He let Hijikata take a nap for however long he wanted and didn't even dare to tease him for it. And it was very likely that the man would refrain from saying a single word about the scene he walked in on earlier this morning. If Okita had barged in uninvited he would have pulled out a polaroid camera, borrowed from the forensics team downstairs, and snapped as many pictures as possible for all eyes to see.

Hijikata, as ready as can be even in his condition, collected his bearings with extra consideration of his appearance taken into account. The dark bangs under his eyes and the pale complexion was unfixable, but a spray of deodorant and a fresh uniform jacket would hopefully mask the fact that he hadn't taken a shower since the night before yesterday. The fact that the young man walked into the station as soon as possible gave Hijikata a minor boost, knowing that his job was now a million times easier. An exaggeration, yes, but even this one interrogation would make paperwork and investigations bearable.

Said young man occupied an empty desk in the main office area where officers handled their own investigations. A senior officer was currently taking the time to put whatever fears he had to rest, smiling wryly and smacking his shoulder. When Hijikata was in sight, the old man stood up and greeted him with more of a skip in his step than his Vice-Chief could even imagine.

"Ah, Vice-Chief, there you are! Rough night?"

"You could say that, yes".

"In that case, don't push yourself too hard and, uh...". The old man grasped Hijikata's shoulder with a grip that was definitely unexpected. Firm and especially painful on Hijikata. "Take it easy on the kid. He's shaking like a leaf".

"Yes. Thank you, Suzuki-san. I'll do what I can".

Suzuki nodded, giving Hijikata a similar pat on the back on his way to his own desk, somewhere in the other room.

Hijikata now had a seat available to him, and a witness that would prove valuable. What Hijikata was afraid of at this moment in time was that the heaviness in his head and the sleep deprivation would impair his concentration when it really mattered most. If his suspicions were correct and this thuggish, unorganised assault was the work of loan sharks he had to pull himself together. To focus and to not make a complete ass of himself as a cop in front of this kid, who, by the way Mr Policeman, had every right to expect justice. Judging by his behaviour and the way he held himself he wasn't about to start protesting to the cops about their lousy investigatory skills.

"So, er, it's Kyou Shinozaki, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir".

"You mind going over exactly what happened last night? Try to tell me everything you can remember - even the smallest of details. Even if you think it's unimportant, please tell me anyway. Understand?"

"Ye-yes, sir".

"Go on then," Hijikata pulled up a conveniently placed notepad from the desk, clicking the tap of the pen next to in in preparation for taking as many vital notes as needed. "I'm listening".

Shinozaki was hesitant as anyone in a situation so obscure and traumatising would be. The number of bruises and cuts marking this cheek and that limb, including wounds Hijikata couldn't see, was evidence of his fear. Most guys who get beat down on the street have an even tougher time recovering than this one college student who got lucky and met a guy who was ballsy enough to step in when he did. Plenty of them quit school and barricade themselves in their rooms, replaying the trauma over and over again as if to say it was all their fault and they should feel guilty about it.

This Shinozaki character, in comparison to many assault victims, was level-headed and strong in his own way. Nervous and unwilling to look Hijikata right in the eyes, granted, but it was brave of him to stumble down the street and sit in this desk chair before a police officer in order to mouth off about his attackers. He was a goddamn mess to boot. As weary-eyed as Hijikata was right now. Once in a blue moon, during cases such as this, Hijikata had to take the easy road; to ease his witnesses into a slow-paced discussion about the incident. Unlike the usual scenario where he yelled and slammed his fist like the big, bad cop that everyone made him out to be.

"O-okay...". Shinozaki breathed deeply through his mouth. Slow, shaky breaths that had Hijikata waiting on the edge of his seat. He twiddled with his thumb, his eyes darting back and forth around the clean surface of the station floor. "Last night I had just walked my girlfriend home from the festival, and I was heading home myself".

"Right...".

"I, erm...Ahem...I past the convenience store when a group of guys showed up out of n-nowhere. I panicked, and they dragged me off into a nearby alleyway - the one you found us in. They started beating me up, took my wallet and then...".

"And then that man showed up?"

"You mean the guy with the white hair? Y-yeah, he just showed up - outta nowhere. And he started, like...lecturing these thugs about picking on a guy like me. I didn't see what happened, since the guy told me to duck near the dip in the wall, with all the water pipes and stuff. Then you showed up a couple minutes later and...You know...".

The story was solid enough. Nothing that could be deemed a contradiction thus far. However it was stupidly obvious that all the minor details had been chucked out of the story. Details that would need to be picked up in court, before a judge and a jury, and so on. As much as it hurt to say it, the young man fidgeting uncomfortably before Hijikata's eyes had ignored the advice he was given about the little, potentially vital, anecdotes in his story. So Hijikata was forced to start asking questions.

"Hm, okay. Um, when these guys approached you, did they state any other business with you?"

"N-no...?" His eyes shifted again. Not a single glance had met Hijikata's piercing gaze as of yet.

Hijikata tried to be patient and calm with him. As far as he could recall there were few incidents where he had to crouch down on aching ankles and speak patiently with children who were unlucky enough to be a victim of sorts. The time taken to calm them down after hours of sobbing and shaking was a true testament to Hijikata's position as a police officer. To be mindful of victims was never typed up in the job description underneath interrogation and the role of sadist cop. Yet here he was taking the slow road to a solid court case with this one victim at hand who was more reluctant to tell the whole story out of fear, towards his attacker and the cop breathing down his neck.

"Are you sure, Shinozaki-san? I doubt these men would approach you, expecting you to have much cash without a reason. You're obviously a student - even just judging by your clothes I can assume you don't earn much money. A lot of thugs in this town tend to go after defenceless salary men. Not students".

"I...Um, well...".

"This would make my job a million times easier if you just come out with it. As you can probably tell, I haven't slept much, so my patience is a lot thinner than it normally is. So, Shinozaki-san, can you please do me a favour and be honest with me?"

Saying please didn't put Shinozaki at ease at all. Hijikata was staring right at him, ready to scorch the cold glimmer in his eyes into this college student the moment he raised his head. The idea put him under the impression that there was some sort of time limit in his testimony. Stammering was especially getting him nowhere. Being of the target of an interrogation can do that to you but all it does is throw you into a loop of anxiety and pressure.

Oh and behold the very moment Shinozaki took a moment to study Hijikata's eyes. It was the moment when Hijikata ripped out a page from Suzuki's book and grasped Shinozaki's shoulder with as much empathy as he could muster. Though the action felt incredibly forced for Hijikata, Shinozaki took it as a reassurance.

"Oi, take it easy". Hijikata shook him once. And his witness snapped out of his stumbling and mumbling phase just like that. "Slow down. And, if you don't mind, tell me the truth".

"Ah - ah...O-okay, okay! I did take a loan from them! It was a couple years back, a-and I needed the money to pay off my tuition fees so that my parents didn't have to. I was desperate and...That's understandable, right?"

"Of course it is. If you weren't desperate to make it up to your parents, you wouldn't have let those bastards make you dig your own grave in debt".

Hijikata exhaled, scratching his neck; unsettled but reassured when the truth of the matter had finally came to light, and the investigation could proceed smoothly.

"Okay, okay. What was the name of the loan shark's company?"

"I, I don't remember - honest. This was two years ago, and I just bumped into one of their employees at a bar by chance. He gave me a business card, but the card itself just had his name and the address of a cabaret club that he owned. I think he was working both jobs".

"Do you still have this card?"

"Ah, yeah. It's here...I-in my wallet".

Shinozaki dug deep into his pocket, the furrow in his brow deepening as he felt around each compartment for a very specific business card. The card in question, when finally presented in the palm of Hijikata's hand, was coloured a pearl white. The writing was a neon blue in a stylised, fancy font that you would often find listing items on a pricey restaurant's menu.

Club Indulgence, printed in the sharpest letters in English with the address below, and a name in the smallest characters below that. Takahiro Watanabe. An unfamiliar name. But all things considered the investigation could run at an even quicker pace, thanks to this token. God bless you, Kyou Shinozaki and your naivety.

"He told me to rip up the card and toss it out after we met, but clearly I forgot. I'm glad I didn't".

"Hm, me too, Shinozaki-san. Thank you. This is...extremely helpful. You did the right thing".

Shinozaki was abashed. Strangely so. He was grinning from ear to ear. A reminder that he had a girlfriend, and this overly self-conscious, nervous smile was the kind of expression a man his age, with his meek personality, would make, given she skipped his way, skirt flying in the breeze, and gave him a big, wet kiss. Hijikata was uncomfortable, to say the least. So he moved on with the interrogation with a swift farewell.

"Right. Um, do you have any questions for me, or should I send you home for today?"

Shinozaki, still visibly embarrassed, thought over his options one last time. The assault, the thugs, the after-thoughts and regrets that followed, but no other vital details came to mind as of yet. But a spark set itself off amidst other details that may or may not have been important to the case. A curiosity, if you will. As to whether Hijikata could give a straight-forward response or not was up for debate.

"O-officer, that man who stepped into the fight...Was he yakuza?"

An unexpected question, but not at all surprising when it sunk in. Hijikata was hesitant to speak of it. After all, the yakuza was a delicate matter for the majority, but this guy right here was like a kid witnessing an underdog superhero in action for the very first time; the kid isn't aware that the underdog is a complete fuck-up but is in admiration during his brightest moments. In this case, there was a lot more gravity to the situation. Shinozaki, despite knowing that the man who saved his life the other night was a ruthless mobster (as hilarious as that sounded in Hijikata's ears), held wonder in his eyes. A quiet hope that he did indeed come face to face with the yakuza and lived to tell his uneventful, but equally traumatic, tale.

"...Do you think he was?"

"I...".

"Do you think a yakuza would go that far for a civilian he doesn't know?"

"I'm not sure. I'd like to think so, but I don't know".

"I see. Well, enough of that. Thank you for your cooperation, Shinozaki-san. We may need you to testify in court at some point, so we'll need your contact details just in case you're called to court as a witness".

"That's fine, I hope. If they don't try to kill me afterwards, I'd be, uh, somewhat happy to help. Thanks, officer". Shinozaki stood up alongside Hijikata, bowing politely before making his way back to the front entrance of the station to sign off and head on home. "I'll, uh, get going now". He uttered, taking those first few steps in the right direction.

"You do that. Take care, kid".

Hijikata watched him go until the man had disappeared from sight, hopefully never to be seen again getting beat up on the street, on the news or otherwise. Hijikata's response about the yakuza was more of an answer than he intended to give. He knew all about Gintoki and his little faction, but he shuddered to think that his familiarity with the guy would turn a few heads and raise enough questions to ruin his reputation as Demonic Vice-Chief of police. The kid overheard bits and pieces of their discussion the previous night, surely. He must have, to be standing there at the shortest distance away in the dip of the alleyway that whole time.

Hopefully he was, in fact, the type of man who crouches away from danger, covering his ears to escape to la-la land where nothing hurts and everyone isn't completely twisted. Gintoki Sakata certainly didn't fit into that group of people. From Hijikata's brief, untimely experiences with him, he knew for a fact that that man was a whole other shade of twisted. In the most bizarre sense of the word...

...

East Shinjuku is one of the livelier districts to ever be built from the ground up in Tokyo, without question. And at night when most businesses open their doors, including bars, clubs, pachinko, cabaret clubs, and so on, the crowds swarm like bees during the day searching for the best resting spot. During the day, towns like Kabukicho are dusty old places where broke old men wander to make a quick buck or spouse can safely visit a grocery store or Laundromat without having to worry about drunkards or the yakuza wandering around so freely.

Removing the dangers of the yakuza or your average street thug from the mind and you could only pay attention to the neon lights ticked off the quota for the district's attractiveness and the night owls bringing in all the profits.

Gintoki watched, from across the street, a group of young men - no more than twenty years old - stumble out of a lounge with a group of women roughly the same age. Same number of guys, same number of girls. Must have been a hook-up. The last time Gintoki so much as stepped into a karaoke bar had to have been six or seven years ago. A point in his life where he didn't give a shit if he was tone deaf or broke because he was stuck in a room with folks with the same singing abilities and similar digits in their bank accounts.

He could hear one of the young men roaring _"Ai-chan, Ai-chan, let's go to a hotel or somethin' - ditch these guys and jus' have fun"_. Her response resembled an embarrassed shriek, yet she had the nerve to smile and slap his arm as if it was nothing short of a tease. Honestly, Gintoki was glad to be out of his teenage years if there was ever a point where he acted like an audacious fuckwit, as he would put it.

Watching these particular kids was an embarrassment to say the very least and to be kind. But he wasn't about to cross the street to lecture a group of young men and women about their cringe worthy, potentially drunken, behaviour out of nowhere. Hate to be the old man of the clan at age twenty-seven, so just look the other way and let them have their stupid fun.

"Ah-...Found you, Gintoki".

Coming around the street corner, Gintoki's date arrived with as much enthusiasm as a block of wood heading for the wood-chipper. Among the other three emotions floating around his head, he sounded more bothered than anything.

"God, finally. The hell were you, Zura?"

Sporting an atrociously unfitting suit and a shiny, polished until gleaming, pin was Kotarou Katsura, also known as "Zura" due to Gintoki's idle attempts in saying his name with any respectful honorifics.

"It's not Zura, it's Katsura. Get it right already because I'm getting really sick of-".

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. As I was saying, where the hell were you? I'm surprised you showed up this late".

"I was just taking care of business. It took longer than expected to get negotiations under way, but I wouldn't be here if it didn't go smoothly, now would I?".

"Huh. So does this mean that...?"

"We bought another club, yes".

Katsura was something of a subordinate to Gintoki. As well as that they were somewhat on an equal stance where neither made a habit of using formal speech or other formalities such as bowing or even a handshake. The way they saw it, those actions towards each other alone was quite laughable.

"Well, with that said, what's say you and I spend the night off with some lovely cabaret girls, huh? You know, to celebrate".

Gintoki swung his arm around Katsura's shoulders, pulling him in so roughly that the man was in for a fall. He was stuck in a painfully firm grip, however, so he just managed to stay on his own two feet and brush off Gintoki's unnecessarily overly-friendly attitude. The man probably considered himself lucky to have a guy friend with a jam-packed wallet and as much interest in women as the average heterosexual dude. That right there proved Gintoki was a terrible judge of character when it came to his closest peers.

"I don't see any real reason to celebrate, especially in a place like that. Let's just go to an izakaya like we agreed. The usual place".

"Ugh, you're such a freakin' buzzkill. Fine...But you're paying for drinks".

The disappointment didn't effect Gintoki's airtight grip around Katsura's shoulders. Only when the lingering hold Gintoki had on Katsura went on a second too long did he let go for his own personal space. During this long, awfully quiet walk, Gintoki eyed a few groups of people walking out of different establishments in the best mood possible. A happy-go-lucky evening in Shinjuku was unavoidable. Not everyone would experience the exact same joy but Gintoki caught on to many people, usually young people or couples, celebrating life-long freedom.

Being as careless as that was something to either envy, or to worry about from a much older bystander's perspective.

"We were never that reckless, were we?"

"Huh?"

Katsura had found himself surveying the sights showered with neon and the various people passing through seemingly without a single care in the world. He smiled right at Gintoki, as mellow as the curves in his lips were, and shrugged with a permissive sigh, like a man who had never experienced true relaxation before now.

"I don't know. I don't remember being that carefree. You would think people their age would try to be more careful around the streets at night".

"Eh, I was letting loose when I was that age. Got into more trouble, though. You, on the other hand, would rather play UNO with root beer and a couple other dorks than...anything else really".

"Don't judge me".

"I'm not. Just saying...There's a shitton more you could be doing with your spare time".

"I'm taking time out of my day right now, aren't I? Plus, you could be anywhere else in the city tonight, but instead you decided to humour me and grab a drink together"

"Well...Yeah, with a buddy, not-...You know what, forget it. If this is fun in your book then it's whatever, man. Go nuts. Glad you consider hangin' out with me to be fun".

"Uh-huh?"

"And...Fine, this is fun for me too. You happy?"

"I am, actually. At least your one of the dorks who hang out with me".

"Oh shut up".

They were no different than a couple of teenagers walking home after a long day in class, complaining about assignments and teachers in a comedic way, as well as teasing each other non-stop. Both men were grinning giddily like teenage boys, but their composure as grown-men was maintained. To the people around them who passed by and took and awkward gander their way all they cared to see was the ordinary interactions of two typical men bantering and chuckling on their way to a bar or wherever else. Then that second's thought pops out of existence.

The silver pins pierced into the lapels of their suits were barely noticeable at first glance. A better look and civilians are cupping their hands over their eyes or stumbling backwards without even taking their eyes off of them. One incident after another, and the pin begins to feel heavier than it used to be, starting from the very first day that they were provided in a tiny leather box that might as well have a sweet little ribbon tied around it in a bow. Sporting the pin day-to-day can feel like a drag at times. And it alienates average men from others.

An idle walk down the street...

And the blunt force of Gintoki's shoulder knocks into a middle-aged drunkard in passing. The man in his stupor stumbles around the concrete below, and it sounds like he's going to puke any moment but contains himself at the last moment with enough energy, pride and anger to clumsily spin around and yell bloody murder at the two men minding their own business.

"Hey, buddy, ya better watch were yer goin! Wan' me to box ya?!"

The echo bouncing around the street was enough for Gintoki and Katsura to catch onto the scene suddenly going on behind them. They immediately noticed that the man was drunk, and was accompanied by, who they assumed to be, a newbie assistant of sorts on hand to try and drag him out of trouble. An educated guess, judging by their suits, age and this particular much younger man's behaviour towards the older one swaying around, delirious.

"Sir, come on, I'm sure it was an accident".

He was as collected as you would have to expect from some big businessman's right-hand man, but this one looked young and inexperienced. Perhaps he was nothing more than polite with enough common sense to pull his half-baked excuse for a company president out of his messes. Everyone had their limits, unfortunately. There was no doubt that the constant shit of a good-for-nothing boss would boil anyone's blood. Especially when the boss had a grossly sour sense of pride and authority.

"Shut yer mouth! Oi, bastard! Look me in the eyes and apologise, dammit!"

"Gintoki".

Being on the other end of this farce was just bad luck, and overbearingly bothersome. Gintoki intended to keep walking on without the hassle of a one-sided apology to some old man who had one too many on his pay-day. This stranger's composed, straight-forward assistant was in a good state of mind before the two gentlemen in the unarguably expensive suits turned right around and played the part of two simple businessmen who didn't want to cause any trouble. At the literal drop of a pin - a family crest carved into silver buttons - the assistant turned a sickening pale and shook nervously.

His head drooped, and that booming, commanding voice of his quietened down into a meek collection of mutters and stutters that just...irked Gintoki.

"Ah! We-we're terribly sorry, sirs! My boss is intoxicated. Please forgive him!"

"Hahh? The hell you apologisin' for, ya dolt? These assholes bump-".

"M-Mr President, please, stop. Not these guys-".

"Oi, old geezer, sorry for bumping into ya outta nowhere. You alright? Taking a bit of a spin there, huh?"

In the midst of this young man's panic, and the gradual realisation that this old man had come too, Gintoki spoke up and took even Katsura aback with the face he pulled. A mask of smiles and...tolerance. A very wry and casual grin lay from cheek to cheek, his hands finding shelter in his pant's pockets.

"Kid, if I were you, I'd call a cab. And maybe get a doctor on the phone to pull your boss' head outta his ass; makin' ya drag him around while he's drunk. If I were in your position, I woulda quit a long time ago".

"Uh...I...".

Speechless, the young man stood there in bewilderment. Not a single thought even passed through his mind after being lectured by the yakuza. Must have been the most terrifying experience of his life thus far. Honestly, though, Gintoki envied him - Envied just how low the bar was when it came to the number of fears this one nobody had in this big wide world. There are worse things to face in a lifetime, and Gintoki thought he had already witnessed the brunt of them.

"Zura, let's go already. I'm starving here...Ah, sorry again, old geezer - and you too, kid. If that guy doesn't apologise to you tomorrow morning, quit. I'm serious".

"...".

Katsura didn't leave anything else with this assistant and his mind-numbingly ignorant boss but the shock and confusion he experienced listening to Gintoki. Not a lot you can say when left confused and surprised, but in his case he just looked down at his boss slumping over his shoulder and decided then and there to call a cab despite whatever the hell his boss slurred in the bar earlier tonight about leaving a cab out of the picture.

"What was that about?" Katsura asked, just as surprised, if not thoughtful over Gintoki's strange choice of words back there.

Sighing, Gintoki ran his fingers through the back of his head, where his hair entangled around his fingers. The nape was hot and sweating from God knows what since God knows when. Not nerves, just frustration, perhaps. Sweating bullets from frustration - oh how rare that was.

"I don't know. What, did you expect me to threaten the old man to get out of my face? That's not my style, man"

"No. That's something Takasugi would do. I didn't know what to expect...It's like you had to reassure them that you weren't a threat".

"Ack, of course we're not. We came out here for a drink and a bite to eat - not to threaten and assault some old alcoholic fart".

"Are you pissed?"

"What do you think, Zura? No, I'm not pissed, but...".

"Then keep it together. Don't let something as petty as a drunk old man running his mouth off get to you".

"It's not even what's bothering me most here...".

"Hm?"

"Nothing".

"Look, I'm taking the bill tonight. So order whatever you'd like".

"Thanks, buddy. Means a lot. That you're buying, I mean, because I didn't bring my wallet anyway".

Gintoki's current mood was unreadable. The mild incident that had occurred was nothing more than trivial, and yet Gintoki grew quite frustrated over it. Katsura could recall similar occasions when Gintoki handled the situation like an adult and saw to it that his composure was as up to par as his quick wit and strength. Then there were moments like this when backlash or quarrels from civilians irritated him significantly. No, he never explained why. He complained and cricked his neck but never so much as discussed it.

A true mystery, but it wasn't bad to see hm return to a much more relaxed mind-set after a couple drinks, even if Katsura volunteered to foot the bill. If this continued he would consider setting up an exclusive, personal tab for Gintoki. He would probably laugh, brush it off and act as he normally did once more. What a mysterious guy. Even after all these years.

...

Quiet, more elegant lounges and any other drinking establishments were fairly rare in the city of Tokyo. No doubt you could spot the biggest cabaret from the outskirts but they weren't built for privacy or lounging. Being dragged to one himself, Katsura knew as much and he didn't enjoy it. If he could go back to three months ago, around the first time he visited such an establishment, he would have insisted on making a business transaction elsewhere. Gintoki was dying to be the one dragged to a cabaret but his inability to focus on work had put him on the side-lines.

Not to mention he had more of an knack for physical work rather than acting as then brains of the operations. He was stupid. Oh no. Just reckless and brazen at times.

"Hey, Miss, another round of kakubin, please! Thanks~!"

Two servings of whiskey in a single stump glass and his cheeks were flushed, his mind a boggle in mild intoxication. A light-weight is supposed to have his limits, but Gintoki is the type to slur out a curse word if you even try to cut his happy hour off by half. He cussed when his eyes darted at Katsura who was sitting quietly with his watered down cup of sake, ogling at him - suspected to be judging him for his drinking habits.

It was simply a marvel that Gintoki's eyes could even focus. He only had two drinks, sure, but this was Gintoki - infamous for being a light-weight on anything above five percent alcohol. And the label of this particular bottle read forty percent, clear as the red underline of Gintoki's eyes.

"Gintoki, maybe you should slow it down. You don't have to stop drinking, but forty percent is a lot. Saki-san, could you please pour him some water instead?"

The woman behind the bar in the fitting Chinese dress nodded in agreement with Katsura over Gintoki, who could collapse onto the floor at any moment if he didn't drink something lighter. Like water. Fluids that were totally weightless; similar to his alcohol tolerance. Gintoki frantically waved his hand in front of her, though his focus was mostly on Katsura.

"Zura, I'm fine. Swear to God almi-hic!-...I didn't have lunch, okay?!"

"That explains a lot. However I doubt you miss lunch every time you have plans to go out drinking".

"Oh, get off my back. Geez. You my mother? Oi, Saki-san, sweetheart, can we get another round of _karaage_ please? Forget the booze".

"Geez, you're so demanding, Sakata-san. Dunno how I put up with it. But, fine, as long as you're not drinking anymore. Wouldn't want Takasugi-dono to get mad at you, now would we?"

Drying her hands on a dish towel from the counter, Miss Saki fled back to the kitchens in the back. Gintoki twitched, irked by the mentioning of Takasugi in a public place.

"Wait. How does she know 'bout Takasugi?" Gintoki slurred, coughing into his fist.

Knowing Gintoki wasn't too fond of discussing work, he let his eyes roll right back towards Katsura who gave an immediate, unforced reaction.

"Believe me, I don't discuss work much either. It's not something we commonly blab about. I don't know why anyone in the yakuza would even-".

"-Tatsuma". Gintoki giggled, shaking his head, coaxing out the last drops from his glass.

"Oh shoot...He would do that, wouldn't he?"

"Especially to a stunning lady like Saki-san, for attention".

"Damn it".

"Well, Takasugi can yell at him himself in a couple months. I'm sure".

"Yeah...".

"Or, or, or!"

Gintoki slapped Katsura's shoulders on repeat in an uncalled for burst of excitement. The man was tipsy to the point where he was suddenly full of energy and no one knew why or how. Alcohol is a component to make you drowsy. Although, his crash was probably right around the corner in the form of one, giant hangover.

Gintoki giggled, leaning in a little closer to Katsura, but failing to whisper. His voice came out monotone and sluggish. Whether he was intending to keep a low voice in order to be secretive or not was up for debate, but a sober Katsura could blame it on the alcohol and anyone would believe him.

"Or maybe Lieutenant Kawakami can deal with him by starin' him down. Pfft, God, that guy sure does give ya the creeps, huh?"

"He isn't _that_ scary".

"Ahh, don't worry, Zura! It's not like he's right behind us".

Saki came back around from the kitchen, scooping up other people's empty glasses from the bar, as well as plates and utensils. The clicking and clanging of those things was the only audible noise among muffled chatter. If their Lieutenant was behind them, clenching his iron fist, they would known ten seconds before even mentioning his name.

Still, after spouting one of the most inconvenient lines, Gintoki was still ballsy (or drunk) enough to slowly crane his head around to peer over his shoulder and pray that he didn't ultimately jinx himself into seeing Kawakami ominously appear, deadpan and potentially pissed off. Gintoki was lucky that the only thing behind him was a dull wall with shabby wallpaper plastered on and a single bulletin board decorated in the owner's photos; both recent and new.

He held his tongue long enough, and let out bated, alcohol-scented breath. In the seconds that followed, Katsura's pager, which was tucked away in his suit's jacket pocket this entire time, started beeping. The thing was louder than anyone in the bar, and an obnoxious way to end the night before it really began. It became so that Gintoki would have to sober up from now until they had to meet the "boss", if the page number gave indication of that.

"That would be Kawakami-dono". Katsura side, slipping his pager away again.

"Huh, that's still pretty fuckin' scary. Is it work?"

"Yup. There should be a payphone nearby. I'll give him a call, just in case".

"Um, duh! Miss Saki! The bill, please!"

"Ah, you're not staying for your order?"

"I mean you can wrap it up for us if you want. Zura?"

"Whatever you want, Gintoki. Let's make this quick, though. If Takasugi is contacting us without warning, then this must be pretty urgent - I'm guessing anyway".

If it were, Takasugi's right-hand-man would be footing the job instead of a couple of underlings with nothing better to do than to go out drinking - and it had only been half-an-hour. The circumstances were sudden and mysterious. A trip to HQ and Takasugi would be rambling on about a leak in the system or a crisis that could endanger everything they've worked hard to build from the ground up. That rarely was the case. If Bansai wasn't the one taking on any urgent business, and these two rookies were getting called at the last minute, it was most likely a lowly errand for the lower ranking yakuza.

The almighty big boss couldn't go out and handle it himself, but to grab the two biggest shields and send them out into the field to clean up the mess. Just what any yakuza should expect if they're not the boss.

...

Calling someplace home isn't easy to come by in a city where every apartment is built for convenience and everywhere else, mainly on the outskirts, was taken by families starting to build up a foundation of their home. Getting married, having children, all the dull things in life. Somewhere, stuck in the centre of this wide, open dome known as Tokyo, an apartment building stood quietly between a road which passed through other traditional and small apartment buildings, and a parking lot which didn't stretch out too far away from the building itself.

Hijikata had walked back to his place, twirling his keys idly around his finger. The chain clinked and jingled with every collision between trinkets, including a tiny, chipped iridescent moon, lined with refined gold - from long ago - and a tiny, scratched dolphin - from many years before that. They were only mere trinkets now, too fiddly to disconnect from the chain. So he got used to having them in his hands while he pushed the key into the usual lock and mindlessly turned.

Pitch black inside. For only a few seconds before Hijikata instinctively found the light on his left. The same space, though now a lot bigger than it was before. He shut the door behind him, trinkets digging into the palm of his hand with a full grocery bag grasped in the other. He dropped both on a nearby counter. Having free hands, he loosened his tie, dumping both the tie and his jacket over the shin-high coffee table in the centre of the room.

It goes without saying that Hijikata was exhausted after every hourly shift. The one thing on his mind was to spread out the futon and collapse. However, the real Hijikata had very little disregard for his health. Every meal and bath was a necessity. Hence why he took the time to actually go grocery shopping. There was a shower every morning, but never any time to soak. So for the first time in roughly a week a bath would run and timely schedules forgotten tonight.

Mealtime was very quiet. Most of the noise came from the odd skillet or pot in use while cooking, as well as the shameless newlyweds next door who would probably argue that they apparently had _too much_ shame to go to a hotel. The solitude and monotonous sensation of his surroundings was emphasised during mealtimes in particular. Three bowls, all for him, but nothing was terribly filling or satisfying. Not for as long as he could remember.

The time taken to bathe went by without a word in his ear or any other feeling other than the still lukewarm water creating rings around him with every subtle movement. He ogled the ceiling, losing track of time, his body completely still in the small tub. And when he dragged the futon out from the same cupboard, it was still never really empty. The bedding left inside was collecting dust, to which Hijikata batted away with his hand to clear the air. 

Again, left staring at a bare ceiling in total silence, Hijikata thought over and over about work. The possibility of letting Kondo drag him out every once in a while was included as food for thought, eventually. As he recalled from the face of his watch, he arrived in the apartment tonight around seven. Pushing aside the couple next door and the old lady below him, no one really does that. Granted, he was exhausted tonight, as he was every other weekday. But the next vacation days he and Kondo took weren't that far away from now.

He considered it again and again, restless and bothered by his own stubbornness. If it was one night of relaxation (whatever that truly meant) it probably wouldn't kill him. Might not be as fun for him as it would be for Kondo, but it was worth giving it a try if it meant breaking out of a routine.

Again and again the debate spun on. Incidentally he was leaning more towards letting Kondo drag him along for the ride. Only when he sighed aloud, and closed his eyes to get some sleep, did he settle on a reluctant but defeated: _Alright, fine. He wins_

The very idea of travelling beyond his usual boundaries was strange. Felt like he was crossing some kind of line, but the truth was there was nothing to hold him back. He knew this. He was always aware that there wasn't anything there blocking his path, or to squeeze his arm and keep him grounded - as much as he might have subconsciously wanted something to keep him in a comfort zone. 

_Fuck it_

He thought, defeated by his own impulses. 

_What's the worst that could happen, huh?_

...

Takasugi Headquarters was as intimidating a building as the man himself. Somewhere in the outskirts of East Shinjuku where the night flooded the windows and stone bricks coloured a dreary grey. Not a soul walked through the concrete built around it. A cab drove towards the building, stopping just outside the open gates that led towards the front doors.

Gintoki and Katsura slid out of the cab, standing still to take in the aura surrounding Headquarters like an oncoming storm was brewing overhead. It was just a job. Judging by Lieutenant Kawakami's tone over the phone line, it wasn't as urgent as Katsura thought. Whatever task was in store for them came up suddenly and required a private meeting with the boss himself. 

When entering Headquarters, the first thing to catch the eye is a large décor of red. A long hallway lies in wake, heading for a stairway going straight up, but also splitting off into two separate staircases leading to opposite sides of the building. A wide red carpet lay under their feet as they walked forward, yakuza men occupying the corners of the room in groups, talking among themselves. At the halfway point on the staircase, a young, stout woman stood as tall as she could manage with her hands clutching her slender hips; pistol holsters ominously at the ready.

"Sure took yer time, didn't ya?" She exclaimed to Gintoki and Katsura, unimpressed and utterly unamused.

"Yo, Onee-san".

"Who the hell are ya callin' Onee-san?! It's Chief Kijima-san to you, Rookie!"

Matako Kijima. Assistant Chief of Lieutenant Kawakami, and the only female yakuza to ever exist - period. The exception Takasugi made for her, especially given her rank, was mysterious but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was strong and capable. Though any interactions with her, as many in the family tend to say, were like treading on an old mine field in the middle of nowhere.

"Who the hell are you callin', Rookie? I've been here longer than you, Missy".

"Gintoki, don't aggravate her".

"You may have been here longer, Mister, but I'm a higher rank than you! And if you wanna keep all your fingers 'n' toes, you'll shut up and do as I say".

"Talk about bein' mad with power, eh, Zura?"

"It's not Zura, it's Katsura! How many times do I have to-".

"Are you morons even listenin'?! The boss is waiting upstairs, so quit babbling and follow me - before I toss ya into the Meguro river".

Matako led the way alright. And she didn't stop and wait for the two "rookies" to catch up with her quick, impatient pacing. Walking up and down the same stairs day to day was a burden on the legs. At such a pace, the throbbing in Gintoki's was a harsh punishment for apparently being late to this sudden meeting with "Mr Boss Man".

There were four hallways upstairs. Each one swerved off into their own direction and emphasised just how massive this place was. Not as large as the Clan's Headquarters, but big enough for half of the family to nestle in for work purposes. Going straight from the top of the stairwell, a set of mahogany double-doors lay ahead. This is where Matako led Gintoki and Katsura, making sure to squeeze a quick heads-up in there before proceeding into the room.

"Shinsuke-sama's in a meeting right now, so you'll have to wait until the doors open. Got it? And be quiet, because it's supposed to be important business".

"In that case, maybe you should refrain from yelling at us within the next five minutes".

"Will you just-...!" Matako halted just in front of the doors, holding her breath before even mustering a single backlashing remark. "You're startin' to piss me off, Sakata. Not shut yer trap and wait here. When the doors open, you're to enter - and make sure to be respectful".

Both Gintoki and Katsura simultaneously glanced at each other, exaggerating their confusion at the very suggestion of being respectful to Takasugi. They had their personal reasons, of course. Nothing Matako had to hear, but it left her in her own state of confusion when seeing their faces. If the boss were anyone else, their attitudes may not have been so casual. They would keep their heads on straight without the will to say a single, even slightly, rebellious word. However, Takasugi was Takasugi to them. 

"What? What is it? I swear if you two-".

An early starting gun was set in motion when the doors opened with a loud creak that shattered the almost humorous goings on in the hallway between these three completely different ranks. It was the kind of shock that sent Gintoki, Katsura and Matako to stand at the side, goosebumps covering their arms and the back of their necks in an instant. What made it worse was soon knowing who had wandered out the door, clicking a walking stick against the hardwood floors beforehand, cautiously, and out of instinct.

"Good evening, Lieutenant Okada". Matako greeted him, refraining from bowing just this once. Her body was twitching, but she held back from letting her voice tremble under uneven breath.

"Kijima-chan? Oh, yes, and who's with you...Let's see...".

Nizou Okada. Third-in-Command, Lieutenant to the family, and a man who's most distinct feature was his impaired vision. Yet another example of the fear-mongering that the Takasugi family prides itself on. Though his sight was gone, he had this odd, full awareness of his surroundings. No one could tell what he was about as a person, but his track record as a yakuza was very telling. To put it simply, he wasn't the type of person to cross. He craned his head, looking straight ahead without vision. He inhaled deeply, and grinned.

"Sakata-kun, and Katsura-kun, right? How interesting that Takasugi-sama would call you two, out of all the Elder Brothers in the family".

"Don't you have somewhere else to be...Lieutenant?" Gintoki said, wanting nothing more than to cut this greeting short.

"I see no need to rush. But I suppose Takasugi-sama is waiting for you, so perhaps we can catch up some other time. You too, Kijima-chan".

"You mind, Lieutenant? You're blocking the doorway...Sir". Matako gave off a similar calm hostility, to which Okada chuckled.

Then he carefully walked on his merry way.

"Good luck in there, boys. Takasugi-sama is in a fair mood, so there's no need to be so tense".

The boys relaxed, looking to Matako who's eyes had narrowed, piercing into Okada's back like a couple of throwing daggers. She sighed heavily, and held the door open for Gintoki and Katsura to make their entrance.

"Head inside already. Like I said, make sure to be respectful".

"Sure, we've got it. Bow, courtesy, whatever".

Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

Matako shut the door behind them again with an equally chilling creak. She made sure to wait outside for further instructions from the Boss, rather anxiously too.

...

The men had entered a stunningly large office, figuratively marked by Takasugi when the thing was first built. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled to the brim with literature of every calibre. At the end of the room, a large, clear window was built in to show off the terrific view of the city. As far as Gintoki was aware, his home had an even better view of Tokyo tower, but that was a story for another day. Before the window there sat a desk, and beside that a mini bar that catered to Takasugi alcoholic tastes though there weren't many of those. The main focus, of course, was in the centre of the room. A circle of leather sofas sat around a traditional wooden coffee table that held Takasugi's ashtray and smoking pipe in place for convenience.

Sitting with his legs crossed and a back as straight as a board was the almighty family head and infamous buzzkill, Shinsuke Takasugi. His age and appearance would catch many off guard, including the eye patch wrapped around his left eye. It wasn't much of a surprise any more since common knowledge around many yakuza alliances stated that he was the youngest yakuza boss to date, at twenty-six. He was short, and had salon-silky hair, but underneath was, as he himself would put it, a beast in a cage. Gintoki had never personally witnessed this beast himself but the whole point of it was to keep the imaginations of those who were loyal to him more active than traitors and enemies. 

At this very moment, when facing him in a better mood, Takasugi was very measured and composed. A good sign for his subordinates in the lower ranks, in other words.

"Hm. So you're on time today. Good".

"Che, hello to you too, Takasugi".

"Sakata-san, I advise you to watch your mouth in front of Shinsuke. I don't appreciate any insolence towards the Boss".

The one man always by Takasugi's side, never giving off any other shade of emotions except aloof indifference, was Lieutenant Bansai Kawakami. Second-in-Command of the Takasugi family, and a Patriarch of the Joushishi clan. Not much could be said about Bansai, from the perspective of lower ranked yakuza. In fact, his origins were also quite the mystery. What the elder yakuza brothers, including Gintoki and Katsura, did know was that the man was in charge of setting examples. Thus the basement below Headquarters was his domain; without sound-proofed walls or windows. A barren place. Totally unseen, but almost everything from below could be heard. 

"Bansai, don't worry about them". Takasugi prepared his kiseru for a smoke. Bansai was quick and attentive when springing to his feet to light the thing. 

"But Shinsuke, they should learn to show you respect". He was careful to whisper, leaning a fair distance away from Takasugi, who subtly waved Bansai away back to his seat.

Not another word came out of Bansai's mouth. He respected Takasugi's wishes and sat back down, his expression a blank slate. Takasugi took a drag from the pipe in between his slender fingers. He whipped the end of the pipe forward, gesturing for the two men still standing at the door to come in and sit down.

"Let's not waste anymore time. I have a job for the both of you".

Katsura took the lead in grabbing a seat and listening in, intrigued and as diligent as ever. Gintoki followed, slightly hesitant but curious all the same. Katsura was on the edge of his seat, Gintoki leaning right back to indulge in the sensation of cushy, comfy leather supporting his back.

"I'm going to make this explanation quick, since I have other engagements, so don't expect me to repeat myself".

"What's going on, Takasugi? We're listening. Aren't we, Gintoki?"

"Yep, yep, yep. I'm listenin'. Go ahead".

"Good to know. I'm sure one, or both, of you have paid attention to the news recently. Loan sharks attacking their customers, causing a ruckus, etcetera".

"Yes - well, I have. Gintoki?"

"Uh, yeah, actually. They're skulking around our turf".

"Exactly. _Our_ turf. And it's only gotten worse. Loan sharks have been around for a long time, but they were never a problem for us. At first, as far as sources tell me - thank you, Bansai - the company in question were badgering their clients who borrowed from them. And it got to a point where they would use violent means to get their money back".

"So how do we fit into the picture?"

"I'm getting to that. Over the past couple months, small-time businesses, including estates that we own, have found themselves in debt".

"Are you serious?!"

"Perfectly serious. I had Bansai and Takechi dig around, and it turns out that a particular loan sharking firm have partnered up with a real estate agency. The agency has been buying over businesses under our care, and using their influence to rob our tenants of rent that they can't afford".

"But that's impossible! Unless...".

"Unless what, Zura? Do either of you want to take a guess as to how this is happening?"

"Is it a mole?" Gintoki responded, picking up a more serious look on the circumstances. "Is someone in the family selling these businesses to us?"

"Hmhm, gold star, Gintoki".

"Oh shut it. So, what, you want us to find this guy and beat the shit out of him?"

"No, don't waste your energy. I want you to bring him back here. Bansai and I can come up with a few colourful ways to deal with him. He must be a complete idiot to think that he can stab us in the back".

"Damn right he is. So, how do we find him?"

"Firstly, the loan shark firm doing all of this is Omi Loans. If you wish, you can shut them down for good. I have no use for them, and neither does any of the other families, since they're an independent company".

"Great. We'll hunt down the mole, and, uh...You do your thing".

"But Takasugi". Katsura spoke, still urging for more answers. "Where do we begin to look for this mole? This city is huge, and he could be an employee of any one of our firms or businesses".

"Good question, and I'm glad you asked. From what I know, cabaret clubs are a huge target with Omi Loans. Somehow raising rent costs has forced businesses to go to war with each other over customers and turf. So much so that the managers are using dirty tricks to get their way. So I've arranged for your own mole to assist you with information. Someone with a good idea about the cabaret scene and-".

"Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah! Wait a minute!"

Gintoki shot straight up from his chair. The sudden burst of energy was very amusing for Takasugi, especially when Katsura's face fell in his hands.

"Takasugi...". Katsura muttered, his voice muffled behind his palms. "You don't mean...".

"Come on, man! Are you serious?"

"When am I never serious?"

"Right now! You're smiling you smiley git!"

"Sakata-san, you're walking on very thin ice with your disrespectful language".

"Excuse me, Lieutenant Deadpan, but-...".

"I don't want to hear any other arguments. You'll meet him in West Shinjuku tomorrow. I'll fax the details to Zura tonight".

"A-alright, Takasugi".

"Zura?! Come on, man...We'll be dead in about two days!"

"I'd give us twenty-four hours".

The enthusiasm Katsura bared evaporated in a mere matter of seconds with a single command from Takasugi, who was silently soaking up their despair with a smirk on his face. He waved his hand again as an unsubtle gesture for the boys to get their asses into gear. Or to get out of his office and get to work. 

"Off you go, you two. Get some rest, because you have a long, long day ahead of you".

"Che, yeah, you can say that again".

Tired and emotionally drained within the span of one meeting, Gintoki and Katsura stood up together and walked right out of the office side-by-side, muttering their complaints and personal issues with the mission given to them. Oh how they would love to work with anyone else, but... 

"Shinsuke". Bansai muttered, taking Takasugi out of the momentarily amused mood. "Can you really entrust them with this? I understand their work in previous years has proved beneficial, but...". 

"There's no need to fret, Bansai. As hard as it is for me to admit this, I do trust Gintoki and Zura above many other older brothers in the family. And I know they can handle this job". 

"And the person who's assisting them? Can we trust him?" 

Takasugi chuckled. As soft as his laughter was, he coughed behind closed lips, choking on the smoke of his kiseru. He sighed deeply, chuckling more openly with near to no context as to why he found that so funny. He reassured Bansai swiftly. 

"If I didn't trust him, I wouldn't have called him out on such short notice. We have many useful resources at our disposal, as much as this one pains me. But, lucky for me, it'll be more of a burden on them emotionally and mentally. Taxing, even". 

The Takasugi boss had his moments. The more sadistic moments evident right this moment when he knew he was sending two of his best lower ranks out in the field, to the wolves. Including one, unsubtle, abashing, brazen wolf with dulled teeth. 

... 

Roads were packed behind each other in a cluster of rows. Horns beeped impatiently, and yelling grew louder until irritated drivers joined as a flock. A car had collided with a payphone somewhere down the road. A drunk driver behind the wheel, now being dragged off by police for further action. The drunk driver couldn't have been any more important than the other drivers making a fuss about a stupid accident. 

No, in the very centre of the bridge in which all these cars had inconveniently gathered, there was a taxi. On this road, there were a number of taxi's. But one dumbass was careless enough to get out from the passengers seat after a brief, one-sided argument with the driver about staying in the car. The driver was the one arguing, and his passenger was laughing hysterically for no real reason. 

"Oi, moron! The hell're ya doing?! This is a bridge! Get off the road!" 

"Good evening kind stranger! If it isn't too much trouble, could you direct my to Takasugi Headquarters?" 

"Huh? You drunk or somethin'?" 

"Not as drunk as the moron who crashed down there! Aha. Ahaha!" 

Confusion and speechlessness were the usual reactions to such obnoxious, unexpected laughter. The stranger sitting in his car stared at the man whom he encountered, bewildered. The man in question turned to the railings of the bridge, his back to the cluster of cars and the noise of horns and angry cries that would drive most men mad. He stared up at the starless sky, and just laughed off his surroundings. 

"Ahaha! Haah...Hello Tokyo! I'm back~! Hahaha. Hahahaha!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introduction: finished. More characters will come later on, but right now you're stuck with the main focus, character-wise. The story should develop at an easy pace, for the most part. If I do it right, nothing should be too complex or confusing.
> 
> Also if I don't completely bomb this fanfiction, I'll make something that's enjoyable to read. Wish me luck
> 
> (kitty face)


	2. Demons Prowling Arc: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna finish the very first arc of the story, and then I'll continue with my previous, slice of life, fanfiction - which I've been planning out for the last couple days. Re-writing my plan for it, anyway. I'll try to keep up with both this story and that one.
> 
> This one does require a lot more intricate planning, though. I accept the challenge. If I spend time on re-writes each chapter, the end result should be just fine.
> 
> Thank you, everybody ^-^

"Ahahaha!" There was something distinct about that laughter. Spine-crawling. Really, the goosebumps were fierce. The flinching even more so. When at arms length of that babble of laughter there was a sense of entrapment that screamed "you're stuck here. Fuckin' deal with it or bail out now, moron".

If you were a peer, and you were numb to it after a decade, lucky you, then the noise tends to pass through from ear to ear like a whistling breeze through a full head of hair. If not, you'd be in for some cringe worthy conversation and bourbon-scented breath with zero preparation for the nostrils. A man has his limits. Amazingly, in Sakata and Katsura's case, this wasn't it. But it was damn close.

"Oh man, it's so good to see the team back together! How're you guys doin', huh? You miss me?"

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you...Tatsuma".

Tatsuma Sakamoto was lucky enough to still be walking on this godforsaken earth without a gag stitched to his mouth. Reason he was undeservingly lucky was because all the business-talk flowed out of that crap pipe and paid his rent. He made a name for himself as an entrepreneur, of sorts, in varied dealerships and branches. If it wasn't for Papa and his influence he would be a bum living in some underground opium den somewhere. Smoking something illegal, wearing loose, tan pants and a gaudy V-neck. Bloodshot eyes, grin stuck to his stupid face like someone taped it on. Period. The image was fitting - disturbingly so.

They say big talk doesn't have to make a big man. And that is correct in the sense that big talk isn't always necessary. In Sakamoto's case, it shouldn't be allowed.

"Yeah, what Zura said".

"Ugh! It's not Zura, it's-".

"Aw, you guys! I missed you both too - like you wouldn't believe!"

Sakamoto had his friends strapped under his arms. He was gripping them too tightly to breathe a word of protest, swaying them back and forth every so often like a jock on an athletic winning streak. Rough play (the word "play" being a loose term here) was what they were used to on the street with bullies, brawlers and debt collectors all looking for a fight. With a friend, however, it was simply painful, and there was no purpose for it unless they were being a major dick.

"Osaka's a big city. You should come visit sometime, and I'll treat ya ta some free drinks at the club".

"Wait, aren't we supposed to be getting free drinks now?" Gintoki asked with his eyes glued to the ceiling in its duskiness. A bland, greenish shade that resembled cartoon vomit. Disappointing. Of course the disappointment had already sunk in since he entered this joint and saw the whole place in a single swift, regretful glance.

"...Oh, right. Hahaha! I forgot! Hahaha!"

"Zura, can we shut this guy up without killing him somehow?"

"Tatsuma, this isn't exactly what we expected. See...This atmosphere isn't exactly...lively".

"Yeah, about that...".

Very specific instructions were given in order to drive them out to a very specific address this afternoon, in West Shinjuku, on time. Don't be late. The car ride was drawn-out for a few unmeasured miles. Felt unnecessarily long. Looking up at this tall, barren building at the end of the day, in the centre of one of the brightest business districts in Tokyo, their confidence in that fact about overstepping their destination was becoming more and more of a possibility.

Bare building, no light, nothing but an eeriness that lingered with them like a ghost, and the air told them to turn back and conduct their business with Sakamoto elsewhere in an environment less haunting than this one. Nah this couldn't be it, they said to themselves. To each other too. Driver had already rode off as though to pass along a silent, disheartening good luck on his way to the Golden Gai in a stylish car with plenty of cash stuffed in his wallet, courtesy of Takasugi.

The listed floor provided to them had the men flipping their stomachs. Firstly, the ground floor, upon entering the building, was a wreck. No lighting, dust particles polluting the air in the form of a grossly visible fog. There was a stage with no curtains, no seating, no life at all.

Information circulated here and there about the building itself; architecture, previous owners, and the incident that brought the whole business down to rock bottom in a matter of hours. A fire had set off from the kitchens, burning up the ground floor into the empty, grey, dust-filled husk that stood before Gintoki and Katsura today.

More scepticism would have come in handy here. Unfortunately the offer of free, expensive margaritas and cocktails with a few friendly introductions to one or two perky, fun women blinded Gintoki's instinct to be more wary. Katsura was content with meeting an old friend, but the conditions were worse than a working cabaret club where the walls and seats were practically soaking in booze and women's perfume.

The elevator leading upward was, of course, out of order after years of neglect. The stairs were in fair condition since the fire hadn't reached any of the upper floors. Still it was dusty, the stink of rotten wood and dampness festering inside. A couple days after summer officially ended and the whole place was a humid catastrophe.

The boys had met Sakamoto in an office-like room. Empty, equally dusty and as dim as the very man about to watch over this place. The glare blasting from the windows was perhaps the worst feature in the eyes of men who were currently going blind from it. The man had made no real effort to provide hospitality since he essentially forgot to purchase a long-neck bottle of bourbon on his way over. So here they were, a bunch of idiots sitting on the floor of this hopeless excuse for a business with no drinks or good conversation.

"Okay, okay! So the place needs work - that can easily be arranged. I'm having a whole team renovate the place in a couple days. Should be ready in...November, December time. If we have a big enough team, it could be ready by October".

"The hell are we supposed to do until then?" Gintoki sighed, scratching his head and soon clearing his throat of that god awful itch.

"Takasugi's expecting to have this place up and running soon. Can't believe he trusts you this much...I have to admit, I'm surprised you two even shook hands at all".

"Aw, come on. I swear, once this place is set up, the cash is gonna roll on in down the halls. It'll be great; red velvet carpets, walls that practically glow as ya walk on in, comfy chairs that might as well be made from silk, and a great band playing classics on the stage".

An exaggeration like that held nearly no water when lingering around this place long enough - long enough that you begin to feel antsy sitting around. Something inside this very room might as well collapse or the pipes could rumble and moan in order to give a guy like Gintoki and excuse to laugh it off. He was very close to it too. His head sort of bowed between his knees. A cheeky smirk crossed his lips, and he snorted out a breath of laughter. The two boys were drawn to this twist in behaviour, especially Sakamoto who thought it'd be appropriate to pat his shoulder and ask questions.

"Hey, Kintoki~, you okay buddy?"

"I'm fine - better than expected". Gintoki shot his head up, smirking like an idiot. When he sniffed, he grumbled and coughed out the itch tickling the back of his throat. "Goddamn. How much did ya pay for this shithole?"

"Half-a-million".

"Christ, really?"

"But it'll be worth it. And Takasugi-shi outta be nothin' short of impressed".

"At least he'll be one of those things".

"...? What, short?"

Gintoki snorted again. Let his lungs collapse into a short burst of chuckling - for Sakamoto to catch on and laugh with him like a couple of bumbling idiots. One of which probably - honestly - got ripped off on an old fire hazard.

"Anyway," Katsura sighed. "Tatsuma, you know why we're here, right? Why we really came here, I mean".

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. You guys were lookin' for info, weren't ya? On this...What is it, a mole?"

"Exactly. So what can you tell us?"

"Hmmm...". Sakamoto scrunched up his nose. He stared off, way into space in a momentary daze that left both boys on edge. Took a moment to answer. Which, by the way, didn't bode well. About two seconds passed until Sakamoto whipped his head forward and shrugged with the least enthusiastic expression known to him and his peers. "Nothin'much...?"

"Seriously, man?!"

"Tatsuma!"

Katsura and Gintoki both exclaimed wildly right in Sakamoto's ears. They were justified in jumping up like a couple of hyper-active, very impatient, maniacs. Or they were merely two men on urgent business. Either or would be accurate to say. Sakamoto's first reflex was a jittered flinch like he was at arm's length from being shot, point-blank. The tone of the ringing echoing inside his eardrums was distracting and even painful up to a certain point. The signal he provided to settle them down was a feeble wave of the hand while the other pressed hard against his ear to shut out everything else.

"Aii! Jesus, guys! Haha, c'mon, I only have two ears! I was gonna say that I don't have any info _yet_. I only _just_ got back from Osaka - what did ya expect?!"

Expectations were unfortunately high here. Though now said expectations were thrown to waste when reality blocked their way and all they could think about was the idea that, yeah, fine. He only just returned from Osaka last night so lets give him a break and assume that Takasugi, one of the most competent and skilled leading men to date (in the organised crime category of course), was careless enough to hand over this task to one of the least brainy but resourceful members at the last minute. Bull-shit.

"I thought Takasugi would have sent you a memo weeks in advance, and you didn't collect any info on our target?" Katsura was the most stressed over Sakamoto's lack of diligence and focus as though, only now, he was finding out about these aggressively unbeneficial details.

"I did collect some info! Like the name of the business, and an array of old addresses that they've set up just for show - but these guys are sneaky! They don't exactly hand out every little titbit of information on a commercial or on one of those new-fangled websites! Not even on their business cards, as far as I know!"

"Then how the hell are we supposed to find these guys? I get that our priority is the mole in our network - which we can't even find if we didn't have a club-like-trap set up in the first place-!".

"Listen! I'm gonna work on it. Although my current cabaret is in shambles, there is another option at hand that we can use to gather information and shut down Omi Loans".

"Go on, then. What's this info?"

"From what I understand, there should be a lead right here in Shinjuku who could show ya the way to the boss. You might have to beat the shit outta him, but that's just your way".

"Alright. What's this guy like? Who is he?" Gintoki asked with a more serious stride about him. Taking a job seriously was far from the norm in his books, but this was what Takasugi expected of him and that was plenty as long as his other skills were up to par.

"Well...I'm told he's practically got his lips stitched together about this loan shark business, but knowing you guys, we might be able to get ahead on the company. Surely one of you can convince him to talk".

"Okay, good, that's a start". For a moment Katsura would have slumped and melted if Sakamoto didn't even know the kind of guy they were about to deal with, huh? At least! He was relieved. That was very clear by the clasping of his hands and the short, silent prayer he was conveying. "Please tell us you know where he is".

"Sure I do. Here, I'll even write down the address for one of you to check out. The other could help me out gathering that precious Intel on the cabaret clubs that Omi Loans and their real estate buddies are targeting. It could lead us to the mole. That sound like a fair plan?"

"The best you've had in a while". Gintoki grunted. Ignored, but pleased with that painfully accurate remark.

"Alrighty then. Better get our asses movin' before Takasugi-shi gets too impatient".

Damn right he would. Among all three of them, Takasugi must have bared the highest expectations in performance and the results thereafter. Knowing him, a plan had been set in motion from the moment he heard even the muffled whispers telling him that a bunch of sharks were swimming around on his turf, interfering with his business and his work. The thought process of that man was beyond anybody's understanding except for those who barely flinched under his cold, piercing gaze. The likes of which were often scolded and ordered to flinch and bow on their hands and knees.

Why were these three dumbasses hired again? Only Takasugi knew the answer to that but he wasn't exactly going to blurt it out any time soon, or ever. Trust was a bit of a stretch, but it was as accurate a reason as they could come up with. Somewhere in the mass-machine in Takasugi's head he slumped his shoulders and thought these guys would have to work as the brains and body shields during this operation. One brain, a body shield, and Gintoki. His role was up for debate - and Gintoki himself knew that. He was aware Takasugi had difficulty reading him, and that was hilarious at some point or another. Today Gintoki could recall the day he openly chuckled during the drinking ceremony that would forever brand him as a yakuza.

Did Takasugi react badly? A story for another day perhaps. Still, knowing he was able to be called a member of a mobster family said a lot, but at the same time it didn't say very much about his relationship with the boss and his lenience towards him. Gintoki got on with it. He nodded his head and pulled out his sword when needs must. This was exactly the same. Same shit, different day. So he grabbed the scrap of paper with the address, and sighed with no real plan mapped out in his head. He nodded along. And he left the crumbling cabaret to fulfil his role, as expected of him.

...

Years ago Hijikata would have thought quitting his bad habits would be a breeze in the wind. When in a good mood smoking was merely a pleasure to tackle the minor stresses in life. Today it was a need. Another cigarette smoked two hours after the last, in between the inside of the patrol car and the small window looking out towards yet another ominous alleyway coloured black and blue. Four or five hours later there would be another.

The car was parked a ways from a shady little joint up ahead where only regulars would exist and everyone else would avoid like the plague. The headlights were shut off, and they took extra special care in making sure they were covering the building from a blind spot. Nobody was peering out from the ground or upper floor windows as far as the eye could see. Exactly what Hijikata wanted. Late afternoon and only a few peeps from the station calling out on minor incidents taking place on different streets or housing estates. A reported assault, a break-in, the usual chaos.

No guns, though. Not everyday in Japan that you hear about gun crime unless for damn sure it's the yakuza knocking on the district cops doors, asking to be chased down Kabukicho or the rest of Shinjuku with their tails swinging between their legs. What a shit-fest that would be.

"Oi, Hijikata-san, you mind putting that shit out? It smells like your office in here".

Sitting slouched in the passenger's seat, much to the Vice-Chief's dismay, was Okita. Returning for yet another night shift that required him to behave himself like the good boy he was supposed to be. And Hijikata still asked why he was allowed to tag along in the first place. For what, backup? The hell kind of backup would he serve?

"Watch your language". Hijikata muttered, whistling out smoke vapour with every long, much-needed drag. "And I'm almost done so be patient".

"What're we waiting for anyway? Can't we just enter the place or chap the door?"

"We're waiting until I finish off my cigarette".

"Oh come on".

"Why do you think we're still sitting here? Backup's gonna call in any second, so sit tight and shut your mouth. Besides, I need to make sure you're ready for this; to behave yourself".

"I've got it, though. Don't need to tell me a-hundred more times".

"I'll say it as many times as I need to. Now, this guy, Watanabe, is gonna be in his office most of the night - the upper floor there. We're gonna walk on in and catch him by surprise, talk to him. Whether he chooses to cooperate or not, he's gonna be cuffed in the back seat by tonight. What I need most right now is for you to be prepared for that".

"I am! Jesus, you could have a little more faith in me".

"Good. Two more seconds until our backup calls in around the main street, then we'll move out".

Absolutely anyone could have walked out of the station with authority and a good head on their shoulders to carry out the job and get the hell out. Hijikata drew the short end of the stick once Kondo slapped Okita's shoulder, blatantly tagging Hijikata as babysitter with little awareness of the relationship the two of them put up with. Truth was, Okita wasn't a terrible cop. Kid was young but he was bright and strong. No one humoured him or took his abilities lightly. The issue, however, was the way Okita saw his job - the way he looked at his Vice-Commander and spat at the ground beneath his feet.

Tonight wasn't any different from last night. Okita looked to the sky. Huffing and puffing like a child stuck in a traffic jam with no other company except his parents. If he was even close to kicking the dashboard in front of him, Hijikata would be in the right mind to bail out and call a real babysitter.

"Hey, Hijikata-san". Monotonous - could this guy sound any more bored or aloof?

"What is it?"

"Kondo-san said something 'bout you guys visiting some club down in the Pink Street area".

Oh good. A discussion. Not to mention one Hijikata would beg to steer clear of. His fingers fidgeted around the steering wheel even while the vehicle was immobile - the engine running cold by the minute.

"He told you that?"

"Uh-huh".

Hijikata let himself sit back, right around Okita's level of comfort. His eyes to the sky, he chuckled. Biting his lip held him back from spouting all the unnecessary drivel that Okita, especially, didn't need to hear. Tense...Yes, he was tense. Admittedly. Heart-to-heart with Sougo was the last item on this guy's to-do-list while a criminal sat around his office counting money like your run-of-the-mill villain - and this kid wanted to get personal. Fair enough. Fine. Whatever, kiddo.

"...I'm humouring him that's all. We're grabbing a drink, getting away from work. That's all".

"I'm shocked". Okita said, batting an eye away from Hijikata's general direction.

"Why's that?"

"One, you'd be cold enough to just humour Kondo-san's kindness, and the fact that for once you're openly going to socialise with women. Lucky them".

"...".

"But if I had to be honest, Hijikata-san, I'd have to say you're full of shit".

"That's nothing new". Hijikata chuckled once again, holding back laughter that wasn't going to come in the first place. He'd like to think he was showing off his own shade of sarcasm to Okita, but it wasn't working too well and the tension in the car could only travel downhill from here.

Okita had never sounded so serious. For a while, his colleagues had gotten used to the idea that this kid couldn't take a damn thing seriously. Here he was now, making that face and speaking so lowly that Hijikata almost misheard him every time he chose to open his mouth.

"It's been a while since I've spoken to woman, so I'm sure they'll humour me too. I can't take relationships that are flippant and momentary very seriously - You know that".

"Aren't you modest...".

"...Listen, uh, Sougo...".

"Hmm? What?"

"...You know that I-".

The radio crackled to life in that instant. The noise vibrated in their ears until Hijikata froze and swiftly picked up the speaker, buzzing in with nearly no reply at the ready. His voice shook.

"This-...ahem". Coughing did the trick. Vice-Commander Hijikata bounced back into a more serious, compelled demeanour. "This is the Vice-Chief. 7th Squad, is that you? If so, state your position. Over".

["Yes, sir. We're coming in on the Main Street Crossing now, sir. Over"].

"Good. We're moving in now. So be prepared to move in yourselves when I give the signal. Over and out".

The radio was reconnected to the dashboard where the crackling died. All was quiet, but seconds afterwards, Hijikata smacked the base of the steering wheel in preparation to make his move. The seatbelt zipped out of sight from around Hijikata's chest once he unclipped and let go. From the passenger seats behind him, he grabbed a long, black coat. Okita followed idly, grabbing the navy blue leather jacket from the same spot, approaching with less regard for Hijikata's impatience and timing. When called to keep up Okita spared no energy to roll his eyes before forcing himself to take a light jog behind Hijikata.

Not an inch of material or equipment could be seen from underneath Hijikata's choice of coat. Nothing but the hem of his pant's legs or the rim of his shirt collar. The gun Okita was assigned was out of it's holster, tucked away between his pants and back (safety on). Reminding Okita to keep his mouth shut for a second, maybe third, time was excruciating in a sense that he _had_ to be cautious and remind him constantly. With enough experience and brain cells, there's no need to be told even once that the man in charge with much _more_ experience and training does the talking under intense, and often dangerous, circumstances.

Something about the bar scene cried danger and catastrophe by the night's end. But, to put things into perspective for the sake of Hijikata's sanity, it wasn't exactly the first time he walked straight ahead into enemy territory with his job crushing his back and his life hanging by a thread. No moron on the force ever said that everything was going to go in the right direction right off the bat - that it would be hunky-dory - but here he was. Still living. Wary and strong. And that was enough to keep him alive. Especially now.

...

Walking in through the very doorway felt strange. None of it felt right. Then again, it wasn't like walking into a bathhouse where the room was alive and no one cared who you were. Nor did you ever have to make a conscious effort to state your business. Well, in a way, the bar was similar in one or two ways. Here, you're fully exposed and the very air permeating the room could sense it. Tension was high as soon as they both slinked on in. A dozen eyes darted their way. Heads turned when the two strange presences entered uninvited. Talk turned into whispers. Not a smirk left here to cool off the hostility suddenly rearing it's head.

Within this bar there were a number of young men. Very few women. The women who did lounge here made sure to dress up in expensive dresses as fitting and silky as they come. At least one sat at the bar, smoking an old-fashioned kiseru. She was noticeable due to the smoke and her distinct posture which would undoubtedly catch the eye. Giddy men covered the booths, though they weren't so giddy anymore. Some older gentlemen - potentially in their forty's to fifties - occupied a corner booth in the dark that was fogged up by cigarette smoke. Hijikata could smell it from the doorway; herbs and mixed cognations of alcohol clogging up clean breaths.

The interior was very neat and modern but not flashy or gaudy like a late-night club showering coloured lights from the very walls that box you inside. Flooring was mahogany, the walls were red, beige flower patters painted by hand here and there intricately. Seating was leather, the bases wooden. The rack of drinks was lit up with pink, blue and a mix of purple that made the whole thing glimmer and each individual bottle of bourbon, whiskey or liquor shine around their necks.

Nothing about the place was particularly eye-catching. Only the people were the main display - for cautionary reasons. A very mellow scene; a quiet place where quiet people go to do business or rich wives can park themselves down and drink something light, away from their husbands.

Hijikata wasn't sure, and...He didn't much care for it. What interested him was the stairway leading up. The stairs in question were not visible at first glance - not as soon as you walked through the door. Instead of finding it straight away Hijikata was provoked to keep his head down. All eyes were on him now. One fuck up and it could lead to a disaster within this quaint little bar that honestly had no business being here other than to be as shady and closed off as possible. Walking up the stairs quietly wouldn't fly here. The bartender - a lean and muscular fellow sporting the pricey suit and quick fingers around the preparation of a cocktail - was giving Hijikata the eye. A narrow, piercing gaze as cold as ice. Now that was a familiar look; an everyday reflection in Hijikata's bathroom mirror.

Awkward hostility could only inflate from here on out like a balloon the longer Hijikata lingered around the doorway. Right up until it popped. What he wanted most was to go out peacefully and pin the boss upstairs into a corner where he couldn't run. Would have been nice if the shady people in this shady bar could swing that way even just this once. Whoever this Watanabe guy thought he was, there was no question that he had allies - plenty of them right here stationed on the ground floor, all of them potentially carrying a firearm. Good thinking on the back-up, Chief.

Several safe inches away, six at most, was where Hijikata could avoid a stabbing or a bullet to the head. He leaned in close over the bar, his arms crossing over its surface, shoulders relaxed and mind in the right place to start a quiet conversation with the gentleman serving his drinks. Nothing stood out about the bartender's character, like the rest of the place. He must have been thirty years old or so. He'd bought himself a fitting suit, but had no hair to comb through. Nothing expensive, nothing flashy, just a simple piece to state loud and clear that he was in charge one way or another.

"The hell do you want?" The bartender muttered lowly.

Thinking over the facts one last time, among the suit and the attitude, his speech was informal and aggressive. In a turn of events, the suit may have been unfitting for a man like him after all. Clothing that's a part of the performance. But that was a hunch. During this time, this very second, Hijikata was riding solo on a hunch that may or may not act as an advantage later on.

A thinly lined leather pouch was tucked away on the inside of Hijikata's coat, where he consciously decided to keep it for this exact instance. Taking it out and flashing the badge inside was a risk - he knew that. For whatever reason (for the life of him he couldn't figure it out) this wasn't the same law-abiding crowd wandering the streets on their merry way to the office for a late shift. Bringing it out incognito of the other patrons wasn't an easy task. Hijikata barely managed to keep his identity under wraps. And it was his first move in convincing this bartender to avoid crossing him.

Said bartender took a deep, shuddered breath. He was composing himself like a man just getting used to the steel demeanour that he must have rehearsed for years on end. There was a tint of rage there, revealed through a single vein popping out from the surface of his forehead and the slope of his neck.

"And? What can I do for you, Vice-Commander? Heh, the demon on the force, isn't it?"

"I need to speak to your boss. Watanabe".

The man croaked out a low chuckle, shaking his head with the most demeaning smirk Hijikata had come across tonight. That was certainly saying something with the young sadist floating around behind him.

"Sorry. There's no Watanabe here". Answers were swiftly executed. No hesitation. Rehearsed, as Hijikata would expect from any organised criminal protecting the big man upstairs.

The bartender was swaying himself towards the opposite end of the bar where another customer, the young woman smoking her kiseru, sat in her own peace of mind. A single step was all it took to put Hijikata on edge. The first reflex he posed was a commanding slap against the bar's surface. His palm connected at full force, the following thud quaking the audience that seemed to close in around Hijikata the longer he stood at the edge of a bottomless void of trouble.

"Listen to me. I'm not a very patient man - and you can count on any rumours that say I'm not afraid to cross boundaries in my work. I'll admit that the shit I've pulled can be borderline sickening-".

"Oof, tough guy, aren't ya?

"-And I couldn't care less. Guys like you mean jack-shit to me, whether I break your arms or paralyse you for life, it'll all the same with petty, mindless criminals".

"Ya really are the demon on the force. Fuckin' hell. Gonna have to disappoint ya, but there's no criminals here". The bartender chuckled again with the most mocking tinge of disbelief he could muster.

"I don't think you're paying enough attention. This could go one or two ways for you bastards. You could allow me to see your boss and ask what I need to before dragging him off in a pair of cuffs. Or...".

"Or what? You gonna shoot me, Officer? Pull out your baton and beat me? You're so full of shit - it's laughable. This has to be some kind of joke".

"Oh no, I'm serious. Of course, I don't need to pull out my gun tonight. You know I don't".

"...?" He was puzzled; the bartender that is.

A man so driven by his work had little patience to spare for a man so casual and careless with words. Patrons fidgeted in their booths, some of them anyway. All of them, however, had their eyes glued to Hijikata's back. Not once did he flinch or twitch. From where they sat, an expression was undetermined. From the bartender's point of view, there was no real tint of anger or frustration present. Solemnity, maybe. Devoted and dour; without a doubt.

"You called me the demon on the force. So you must have heard of me somewhere - and that has to do with me - not my badge or my label. Understand? I am capable of so much more than flashing my gun, or my baton. What I'm wondering is if you're naïve enough to wanna find out what that means".

"You must be fulla shit. Even if ya do get up there, what makes ya think ya can leave? Doesn't matter if you're a cop, the higher ups aren't scared of you pigs. I couldn't care less either - especially since you're the one pulling threats outta your ass...Officer".

"Try me. I'm not pulling anything here. You and your boss mean nothing to me. I will burn this place down to the ground if I have to if it means smoking Watanabe out of his hiding place. I'll say it again, as many times as it takes...I'm going upstairs to pay your boss a visit, and I won't let a dipshit like you block the way".

Staring into the eyes of the Demonic Vice-Chief of police resembled that of getting caught in between a wall and the barrel of a gun. Hijikata was fiercely resisting the need to pull his firearm out as a conceited threat even when outnumbered by at least ten. These men were already sitting high in their seats with expectations reaching even higher; for a fight, for a shoot-out. Something in the balance of the room to tip over and shatter to pieces. Put all of the endless possibilities leading to a bloodbath beginning from the Demonic Vice-Chief of police aside, and you've still got the other young man in the room who followed the cop in quietly.

Before long, Okita was grabbing Hijikata's arm subtly. It wasn't possible to drag Hijikata away from the scene, but Okita continued to step in. As aloof and nonchalant as usual, he stared directly at the bartender with very little regard for the hostile circumstances or the danger they faced within an inch of their lives.

"Hey, man, you don't know who you're dealing with. This guy can get really scary, y'know". Okita's voice was low, and grossly sarcastic.

"Sougo, shut up. I don't need your input". Even so Hijikata was measured as can be for someone so notoriously hot-headed. Acting as the adult was the power he had over Okita. The only power...

"Dude, get out while ya can. This guy's the real deal. He smacked the delinquent right outta me with a steel ruler and, before I knew it, I was picking up a box of kittens from the rain to carry them home".

"Sougo...". Hijikata hissed as a second-to-last resort. Any intensity from the scene was disappearing with every ounce of stupidity that dribbled out from Okita's mouth. And the little shit was aware of that.

"Gotta say, I'd hate to be you right now. Hoo boy is it hot in here~". Hijikata was all the more testy the longer Okita dragged on his petty sarcasm for the sake of pushing Hijikata's button at an alarmingly rapid rate. Mr bartender had his arms crossed over. Now it was abundantly clear that he refused to take Hijikata seriously. That was Hijikata's breaking point. "Hope you guys have body bags somewhere, 'cause that's where you're gonna end up if you-".

"...!"

The figurative pin keeping the room and the audience at a stand-still was pulled out forcefully when the joints of Hijikata's fingers connected with, and grabbed, the nape of the bartender's neck with enough force to draw blood between his fingernails. Thrusting his head downward against the wooden surface below was the ultimate step taken to move this interrogation along at a much faster pace. A thick thud echoed in the room, followed by a pained cry that only a man in sudden desperation could make.

Reflexes were on high alert, pushing Hijikata to take the incident a few long, risky strides further. Grabbing the bartender's (assumed) dominant arm and twisting it against the countertop was what brought the crowd around them to their feet as an act of caution. Several held onto their gun holsters, touching the handles and the triggers with the intense desire to pull them out and fire at will. Okita was a step ahead when he, too, pulled out his own gun and pointed it at the first head that caught his eye. The barrels of several guns clicked, and in that short, short amount of time, Okita was faced with too many firearms to count, all aiming at his head.

"Sougo, stand down. If this guy can cooperate, we won't need to start a fight".

"You-...you basta-argh!"

Hijikata pushed the pressure points. He squeezed and twisted the right muscles, cramping them up until the bones would ultimately crack. Breaking some nobody's arm wasn't a straight-forward job. Doing so required upper body strength and guts. Hijikata was mentally preparing himself for the popping noise to come through a bent over and broken joint between the bicep and the forearm.

"I'm not fucking around anymore. This is getting really irritating, so if I have to use any means necessary to get to Watanabe, I'll do whatever. Even if I have to deal with a mouth-breathing degenerate like you. Breaking your arm is a small price to pay over a bloodbath in one room, don't you agree?"

"Fuck you-ghrgh!"

"Make this easy on yourself. Why protect Watanabe anyway? Unless...".

"He's just trying to protect himself, Mister". From across the way, parked comfortably on one of the bar stools lined around the entire surface, was the woman Hijikata took notice of as soon as he entered the room in the first place.

At first glance her presence was insignificant. No offence to the lady, of course. Further inspection, especially once she spoke, and Hijikata was drawn to her desire to involve herself in this situation without so much as flinching or batting an eye. Only when she spoke up did Hijikata really think about why she was here and the attitude she was posing; so calm and uninterested even in the face of a violent act.

Her appearance...Silky, wavy auburn hair, a caked-up face that wasn't too unnatural (from what Hijikata himself observed). Her red dress was as long as her red hair. She bared no shame in sporting her legs - white and slender - the most noticeable physical trait she had.

"Don't hold it against him. Though I suppose it's a little too late for that".

Upon her painted lips was a brass smile. Those big eyelashes of hers fluttered in Hijikata's general direction. And so he was held back from reacting right away in a sheer moment of instinctive curiosity.

"And who are you?" Hijikata asked. His focus may have been on her now but the strength in his arm refused to relax above the bartender's neck even as the skin turned red and the vein's throbbing through were set to rupture.

"A regular. Name's Fumiko. Eiji-shi, why not let the nice, handsome police officer upstairs?"

"But Fumiko-...!" The bartender struggled beneath Hijikata again and again with no end result to his efforts. The callous wall he built around himself collapsed into the rubble of a mere performance as soon as he was pushed into a very tight corner.

"It isn't worth it. If the big, big boss finds out about this, there's no reason for you to stay in town. I'm sure Mr Handsome Policeman over here can even escort you to a safe place".

"You-...You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me!"

She had no reason to offer assistance to a cop unless it was in her nature or a citizen's sense of duty. Unfitting in a place such as this, but her help couldn't be taken for granted. After all, this Eiji guy wasn't so cocky in front of her.

"Listen to the lady Mr...What was it, Eiji-san? If giving up Watanabe puts your life on the line, we can see to it that your head remains attached to your shoulders. In fact, if you're involved with the loan sharks, you'll be able to spill your guts to us at least, right? Sougo, we may not need Watanabe after a-".

"-No! I don't know anything about the business! I'm-...I'm just working under Watanabe-san as his bartender! I don't listen in to all the business talk - I swear to God!"

"But because of that you're an accomplice to the loan shark's business anyway".

"...".

Either by Hijikata's threats or these "higher-ups" keeping tabs on this tiny establishment, this lowly bartender was buried under six feet of dirt unable to move or breathe unless the main men ordered him to. His work burdened him. Now that, Hijikata could understand.

The biting grip Hijikata had on Eiji-san's neck unlatched itself from marked skin. The shade turned a pale white when the pressure was taken off. The bartender took his time lifting his head up as though anxious that Hijikata might be cruel enough to kick him while he was down if he so much as looked at him. Just like the obedient dog he turned out to be, swaying his tail back and forth between trembling legs. Pain around the neck is a heavy burden to brush off, but this guy was too sore to speak. In more ways than one perhaps. If defeat had never appeared so disheartened and bitter before, now was the time.

"Listen, this isn't worth it. Your boss isn't worth getting killed now, is he?"

"Eiji, you can't listen to this guy!" The men standing around behind them had lowered their guns, uncertain that they would ever fire them. One in particular bellowed loud enough for the whole bar to hear, like a quake shuddering the floors. "He's a cop! What good's he gonna do? They're useless - they're all useless assho-...!"

Okita cocked his gun appropriately as yet another empty threat. The unnamed man flinched and stumbled back against his seat in a cold sweat just hearing the soft click of the pull-back.

"Oii, Mister, you mind sitting down and shutting up? We're trying to be fair on you asshats, so be grateful that you don't have a bullet hole in your head yet".

"Sougo. I told you to stand down. _Now_ ". Hijikata couldn't have stressed enough that he didn't want blood and brain splatters to cover the walls tonight. Dragging this young man along for the ride was already dead-weight piled up onto everything else.

"Eiji-san, I can't promise that you or your crew will walk away from this as free men. But you can be sure that your cooperation will shut down these loan sharks for good. All I ask is that you wise-up and hand over your boss. It's not cowardly, it's just the way of the world".

Sincerity was one of those odd feelings that never appear to make a song and dance with a man like Toushirou Hijikata. The ways in which he presented sincerity were unreadable in most instances. But when you look hard enough it's like watching a new man turning over a new leaf if for a mere minute or two. Kindness was another trait that didn't sit right with him. Watching him now, it was so natural to see the words and the emotions roll off his tongue. He wasn't lying or trying to pull a fast one on this guy by spouting a bunch of ear-candy bullshit. His mind was in the right place, and he was confident enough in his abilities to make this work.

Eiji the bartender relaxed his shoulders, swiping the palm of his hand over his bald head in a subtle act of self-comfort.

"...Fumiko". He mumbled.

"Yes, Eiji-shi~?"

"Escort the Vice-Chief upstairs, will ya? Watanabe's not worth all this trouble".

"Boss, you can't be serious!"

"This is bullshit!" The men continued to yelp with as much shame as real dogs, begging for someone to throw them a bone.

"Fellas, you stay right there. Everyone else should leave while they can. Bar's closed".

"Much appreciated, Eiji-san. Backup is on the way so stay right where you are. If you so much as run, I'll find you and I won't hesitate again. Keep that in mind when you find yourself staring at the doorway".

"Don't you worry. I ain't got anywhere to run to. Hurry up now before I change my mind".

Negotiations are one of the most challenging responsibilities on the force, as Hijikata learned years ago while in training within the outskirts of the big city. Tonight carried one of the smoother talks ever encountered on Hijikata's part. No one died yet and the cops were able to move onto the next level peacefully. Fumiko led the way to the backstage of the bar where there was a single door. A plate read: STAFF ONLY, as you would often spot in an establishment such as this or any other like it.

This woman slipped right in with a chipper skip in her step and a clicking in her pointy, red heels. Beyond the door was, as expected, the stairway Hijikata had intended to reach by the end of all this. Not a single light flickered within this narrow hall. When Fumiko pulled out a plain old lighter from her purse, she and the boys had something to follow with nearly no risk of tripping over themselves. A staircase this small went one way, and one way only, so there was a fifty-fifty chance that the man of the hour would be pacing around up above in a panic. Hidden away inside the darkened stairwell, taking the first step, Hijikata removed his gun from its holster as a just-in-case tactic.

"Excuse me, Miss, but who are you exactly?" For future reference, Hijikata made sure to catch the young lady's name.

"Hehe, I told you, Mister Officer, I'm Fumiko. I'm unimportant to you; but I'm a gal who tends to offer a helping hand as she sees fit. So you're lucky I was here tonight".

"Is that right...".

"And aren't I lucky to meet such a handsome man, dressed up in uniform".

"Eh? Um, I'm not sure what to say to that-..!".

"Oh don't worry about that!"

The upper floor was in reach when Fumiko took a second out of their intense journey up to whirl herself around. The spark of her lighter, like the spark of her brazen sneer, flickered before Hijikata once she found amble opportunity to lean in close and stroke his face under bright pink talons. Situational circumstances deemed this moment out of place or inappropriate, but for Fumiko, this strange and beautifully mysterious woman, she maintained this thrilled childlike persona with as much awareness of the potential dangers up ahead as a real child.

"You don't have to say anything, sweetheart. I'm the kind of girl to take the initiative, so you don't have to say a single word. Okay? Now let's hurry before Watanabe decides to jump out the window as a last resort".

Fumiko's heels clicked up the steps which left an echoing trail behind her. Dumbfounded, Hijikata stood still near the second-to-last step in a blank fantasy bubble that was as white as a sheet, resembling that of his pale skin. A fog clouded his mind, so much so that he was spinning around, lost in it.

"Seems you have yet another admirer, Hijikata-san". Okita jabbed Hijikata's ribcage on the way up. He pushed his boss to the wall and continued on upward from there without so much as an apology. "Though this one's got more fire than the women who usually flirt with you. You coming or what? I kinda wanna see this guy throw himself out the window".

Hijikata cleared his head with enough time to catch up and tell Okita off about the act of sadistically witnessing suicide, the likelihood of which being slim.

The door was up right up ahead under the cover of darkness. The last conclusion anyone could make here was that Watanabe was hold up in his office, either unaware of the goings on downstairs beforehand or fully prepared to face whoever he assumed to be coming his way right this second. Fumiko, without putting up a fuss or a protest, turned the doorknob herself and opened it at an acute angle.

"Watanabe-san? It's Fumiko. I'm coming in".

The hinges creaked against the old wood every second she pushed through the door. Natural light from the outside soon flooded the hall in a fluorescent blue. Hijikata held his gun at the ready over Fumiko's shoulder with very limited options for defence at his disposal. It stuck in his mind that the lady deserved a formal apology sooner or later, preferably once Watanabe was sitting in the back seat of a police car. On the other side of the room there was a distinct shine running around the barrel of, what appeared to be, a revolver.

"Watanabe. It's the police. Come quietly and nobody has to get hurt".

Even when in between a classic revolver and a nine milometer pistol, Fumiko remained in the middle without so much as flinching. Now from years of experience, the ordinary response - not just from women - would be to duck away from the danger. Fumiko on the other hand was as still and unmoving as a rock embedded into the earth. In such an instance, her feet remained completely still. She herself was still - not a shudder or shiver around her. Something about her was a puzzle - a total mystery - but now was definitely not the time to start asking questions.

"So Eiji sold me out, huh?" Watanabe scoffed. The shadows hid him away mostly but nothing could mask the grin crossing his smug face. "Then he's learned well. Save your own skin, I told him. Save that and leave the carcases of your brethren behind if you have to. In this business, you can never be too careful".

"Watanabe, don't be stupid. You now how this ends, so give it up already".

"Yeah. Either I get dragged off by you pansies, or I die. What difference does it make? Might as well shoot myself in the head and get it all over with".

"But you won't do that. You're too cowardly".

"Real ballsy of you to point that gun at my face from a safe distance and call me the coward, Mr Vice-Chief of the Shinsengumi. That's who you are, right? I'm surprised you haven't shot me yet".

"Nobody needs to get shot unless they're asking for it".

"Like you, Officer?"

From arm's length Hijikata could deduct that Watanabe was insistent on holding his guard up until someone fired their gun. The pause in the room provided Okita with an opportunity to slip himself into the room with his own gun pointing directly at Watanabe's head. Probably the only course of action they had if they wanted Watanabe to surrender quietly. What stopped him from rolling over so easily was that he thought neither cop would shoot. Okita must have drawn himself in too closely, because Watanabe forced himself to aim directly at the boy with no regard for his visibly young age.

What if Watanabe shot Okita? What if he took that risk and killed an officer as a last ditch attempt to get himself out of a corner? Maybe he threw all his chips in the pot without thinking, betting on Hijikata's morality; that he wasn't the type to kill but merely disarm...Even when a comrade is shot point-blank. Sure it was Okita, but even so Hijikata wanted to avoid soaking his hands in blood. This once. Tonight...Just this once.

...

Sirens moaned in the streets like a stampede storming in towards the shady bar located within the darkest corners of the city, shockingly close to the busy square that was home to one of Tokyo's more well-known theatres. If citizens were aware of this hidey-hole within the district they were wise to keep a clear distance. Out of a sense of duty for the sake of a generous pay-check, Gintoki walked the shortcuts on the way to the bar built there. Knowing he was liable to make quick work of this while the district's pigs stormed the roads was a burden on the mind. Carrying out the job would slow down significantly if he was inevitably going to bump into a S.W.A.T team.

"Tch, annoying. Damn tax-thieves - how'd they know about this place? Whatever. They can do what they like, after I'm done here. Takasugi owes me for this one".

Tire tracks skidded down the road at a sudden stop when the bar was in sight. A semi-circle of cars covered the front entrance, square vans painted pitch black too. Fear of the cops was a trivial matter. Annoyance was a totally different story. Without taking the time to look a single cop in the eye Gintoki slipped inside the bar on his own accord. Not a single argument was made against him. Must have been invisible to them.

Instead of the tense, overbearing scenario Gintoki painted on his way here, what he faced was back-and-forth pacing, anxiety and sweat bullets dropping by the seconds until each man, at least ten, were glowing at the brow from heavy patches of sweat. One could wonder why but never get any straight answers to such a bizarre question. Sticking to the self-made plan was the better option.

"Hey, boys. Mind if I ask a few questions?"

"The hell does this bastard want?" The police sirens must have stirred up a storm in here. The men were on edge, including this one well-dressed man with the untidy scruff growing around his wetted lips who decided to speak in a low, frustrated tone.

"Get the fuck outta here, whoever you are. We don't need anymore trouble tonight".

"Yeah, fuck right off, perm-head!"

"Woah, such hostility. Listen, if ya let me see your boss real quick, I'll be out of your hair in no time flat. I didn't come here to cause trouble".

"Doesn't look like that's the case, friend".

A bartender of a fair build left his station to confront Gintoki directly. He was as ragged and intense as the rest of them, if only a little calmer. In Gintoki's mind he came off as threatening, and therefore, from here, trouble was what lay ahead.

"Listen, get the fuck out of here. The boss is already occupied, and you need to leave right now".

"Hey, come on. You don't have to get all up in arms about it. And back the hell off, will ya?"

Brazen and uncaring, Gintoki pushed the bartender away. He barely moved backward, but being as defensive as he appeared, the man's eyes darted down at the hand which bravely pushed him aside. Following the length of his arm, the bartender spotted the shiny silver button pinned to this stranger's lapel. From there he lost sight of the stranger before him and was blinded by a threat.

"Oh fuck...". He cursed, losing his breath.

"Boss?"

"What is it? - What the hell...".

"He's yakuza...He's a fucking yakuza!"

"Eh? No-...No fucking way!"

"Shit...If the yakuza's wrapped up in all this shit - we're dead either way!"

Those present panicked. Their pupils scorned into Gintoki's, terrified and so unsure of whatever was to come next. Hell, Gintoki wasn't so sure himself if they were all cowering away now after talking like big, pompous men.

"Hey, fellas, relax. None of this is gonna come back to my boss, as long as you cooperate. This can end nice and peacefully".

"No. No, fuck this! Fuck this, man! We can't let this asshole leave! He's gonna get us all killed!"

"Kenta, what the fuck are you doing?! Don't shoot!"

Panic was practically radiating the room like a mass heat wave. One man's panic in particular persuaded everyone else to pull out a gun to defend themselves from a danger that wasn't truly there in the first place. All but the bartender decided to take on a violent approach towards this one man whom barely had a chance to state his business in full. What Gintoki was left with, before five measly minutes had gone by since entering the bar, was a risky choice - left to him by none other than these ten morons.

Brute force was perhaps his only weapon. Ten men against one and the bystander was this bartender who incidentally, accidentally, provided Gintoki with a great advantage. The bartender held his own pistol holster around his belt on the right side of his waist where it was easily reachable. Weird that he refused to join his clique in pulling it out to shoot the stranger dead. Fair enough. Nobody was going to pull it out for him...Except Gintoki.

Gintoki spared every ounce of energy for an incident like this where he was caught up in rainstorm of bullets and he desperately needed a shield. No one had dared to fire since the bartender blocked the way, perfectly in range for Gintoki to grab onto his collar. A rough tug to burn the skin of his fingers, a quick spin and Gintoki was crushing the kind bartender underneath his arm - pressing hard into his ribcage as though he was purposefully provoking a reaction out of him for the hell of it. There was enough support on his breast to keep him still, as well as plenty of sentiment among the men to freeze up on the spot. Their will to suppress fire was remarkable, given the position Gintoki forcefully dropped them into.

Snatching the gun away from the holster and pressing it against his hostage's temple was a task executed in under five seconds, at least. A pleasing score for a yakuza aspiring to climb the ranks if it meant kicking Lieutenant Bansai down a notch. Really - such skill!

"Now...". Gintoki began. "I've gotta admit, I'm not a fan of guns. There's no challenge in using them. So why don't you bastards drop your and we can settle this like men, huh?"

All guns of a different calibre were carefully placed onto the ground. Some chose to hesitate even under threat of losing their leader with astonishment burning itself into their eyes while watching everyone else surrender quietly. Eventually, one-by-one, they followed Gintoki's command.

"Good. Now kick them over to me".

They must have felt weak. The panicked defeat in their eyes and the bullets of sweat wetting their faces was enough to say so. The cops outside and now a yakuza putting them all to shame in a matter of minutes. A crying shame. The guns skidded across the floor in Gintoki's general direction. The fact that none of them fired on their own lessened the anxiety stirring in the recesses of Gintoki's mind - knowing that these morons would have enough brain cells to turn the safety on.

"Now...". Gintoki gave each gun a swift kick with his heel. One at a time, they were soon out of reach by the front entrance for the cops to snatch away later for fingerprints and whatnot. "Let's say we settle this fairly, huh? No guns, no crying, no bullshit. Ready fellas?"

Gintoki had provoked a tinge of fear in all of them - he felt. Despite the power the stranger at the door held over them currently none of them doubted their ability to brawl, especially a single man with unmeasured or undetermined abilities. In the time taken to mentally prepare these men for a real fight, six of them pulled out a knife of some kind, one grabbed a lone beer bottle from the bar to inevitably smash and stab the jagged points through the enemy's stomach, and the last two had only their fists to throw.

Noise of any sort fled the room. Dead silence. A lesser sense of fear, replaced with the need to survive. As strange and nonsensical as it may sound, Gintoki was surviving by throwing all caution to the wind.

Out of everyone standing here, Gintoki was the one to carry out the first move like a white pawn on a chess board. Though he liked to think of himself as more of a knight piece, with the most bizarre movement out of the lot. And it all began by tossing his lone shield away to the ground. He thrust the butt of the gun into the air before throwing it back down against the bartender's bald head. The man collapsed immediately, his eyes rolling back behind his head before it hit the edge of the bar with a spine-chilling smack.

A split of a second and there was a swift burst of energy that exploded within Gintoki. He thrust himself forward in a courageous leap, dumping the gun and instead unsheathing his sword from the worn leather hoop of his belt. Wood may have appeared to be an ineffective offense against knives and big, bulking brutes but Gintoki didn't hesitate to use whatever he could at his disposal.

He thrust the weapon forward towards the guy standing closest to him - an agonised man with a thick brow and a chubby face worth punching. The blunt edge of the sword smacked his jaw with incredible power, sending him to flop across the booth's flat table with a jarring thud. Two attackers charged at once - and the first momentary thought to reach Gintoki in a split second was to get rid of them both at the same time if humanly possible.

He flung his right leg up towards the man on his right, naturally. The knife didn't matter - Gintoki couldn't focus on it even when it was raised up high in the air. The sole of Gintoki's thick loafer struck his side, around his ribcage if he was lucky, knocking him onto his knees -- winded. On his left, the man with just his fists, threw himself forward at just the right time for Gintoki to gain his balance. Jabbing the tip of his sword was instinct - it was all instinct - every move ran on heated instinct.

A fire was burning up in his chest. Sweat beads bled from his pores from the rush of knocking them down like dominos, piece by every bloody piece. The man on his left collapsed backwards, groaning in pain - crying out when Gintoki stepped over him thereafter his attack.

Two more attackers surrounded him. Another whack to the head for one. Gintoki's focus led to a sudden sliver of pain coursing around his back when the steel blade of a knife came shooting down from behind. To which he whirled around, thrusting the joint of his elbow against a jaw, maybe a nose. The cracking noise that sharply followed meant one or the other.

"Come on, you bastards!" Gintoki cried, screaming at the top of his lungs as he brought his wooden sword down over and over in swift, practiced motions with as much force and impact as he could create with as much energy as he could gather without a pause for breath.

...

From above the upheaval on the ground floors, Hijikata's ears picked up every collective crash or thud that was on the verge of shaking the floors. Watanabe had distanced himself from Hijikata, if for a fleeting, panicked moment before the fear kicked itself in his side. Or, more accurately, pushed his trigger finger. The man let the fear wash over him a bit too soon, and the gun in his hand decided to go off on its own.

In the seconds beforehand, Hijikata clutched onto Fumiko when his whipped his head back around and realised he couldn't keep a steady aim on Watanabe long enough before he got himself shot. With the woman in his arms, he threw himself down, making sure to cover her back.

"Sougo!" Hijikata cried, engaging in his own short burst of survival instincts where he, too, fired his gun as soon as Watanabe's bullet struck the wall above him.

The shot flew threw the air at the speed of light, popping a hole in Watanabe's bicep as a quick way to disarm him. The revolver fell under the desk as Watanabe curled up in agony, groaning while the wound gushed and gushed.

Okita swept in. Grabbing Watanabe and dragging him away from the gun was the priority at the time. In the moments after, he was pinned to the ground in a position where Okita could snag the handcuffs from his belt and permanently render Watanabe dormant. The wound burning his arm up prevented him from putting up much of a fight. So he lay there, limp and breathless from the pain scorching itself through broken flesh and bone.

Relieved, Hijikata dropped his gun.

"You alright, Fumiko?" He asked with his hand gently grasping her shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm alright. My heart's pounding, though - I mean, my are you jumpy!"

Fumiko giggled. How could a woman reacted in such a way? As aloof as Okita was on a daily basis, if only more cheerful and possibly intoxicated.

"Oi, Hijikata-san, maybe you should stop playing around and call in backup already?"

"I know that, Sougo! You think I don't know?! Jesus. Alright, come on, Miss, I'll help you up".

"Teehee! Such a gentleman too~".

God - how he refused - simply refused - to admit it, but Hijikata could feel the heat burn his cheeks like never before the longer this woman wagged her tongue at him like an animal in Spring. He offered his hand, but she took to hugging his neck as he got up off the dingy floor. To which he swiftly, albeit gently, pushed her away once he regained his balance.

"Right - ahem! Backup's on the way right about...". The beeper buried deep within his coat pocket came out. He entered the memorised digits, and waited for the men to storm the castle.

In between the very moment he tapped enter and afterwards, the office door burst open as though the call came through effective immediately in record time. What the only two cops in the room got instead was the arrival of an uninvited hooligan barging in on the scene without clearance or purpose, as far as Hijikata knew.

"Holy shit...Man were those guys a buncha screw-balls! Watanabe, you asshole, you need to hire new guys and-...Eh? Ehhh?!"

"Y-...Y-... _You!_ " From the very pit of Hijikata's stomach, he roared and squeezed the beeper in the palm of his sweat-covered palm until it was fit to shatter. 

Gintoki Sakata ran onto the scene. At first a blank slate covered in bruises and someone else's blood. Now, upon meeting Toushirou Hijikata and giving the old death glare as sharp and deadly as a razor blade, the anger and the frustration spread like a wildfire over these cheap wooden floors. They confronted each other, face to face, man to man.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?!" They both screamed, spitting at each other and letting the fire grow and grow - losing all sense of their original objectives.

"Aren't you supposed to be out there with the other pigs, you tax-thieving bastard?!" 

"Aren't you supposed to be licking up your boss' spilled milk, you asshole?!" 

"Oh yeah?!" Gintoki slammed his forehead into Hijikata's with intent to knock him over, but the man remained unmoving. "I could say the same for you, Mayora! Go lap up the Chief Gorilla's afro ass hair!" 

"Is that the best insult you can come up with, fuckwit?!" Hijikata clashed against Gintoki's forehead with a remarkably similar amount of force until their were both at an equally petty stance. 

"Suck my dick, pig!" 

"Suck your own dick, Yaksha bastard!" 

"Uh, Hijikata-san, Danna...". 

The clicking of knuckles on glass panes drew the men away from their petty fighting and more towards the whirring sirens outside and the thunder of several heavy boots storming the bar beneath them. 

"Dammit!" Gintoki cried, kicking the base of Watanabe's now former desk as an act of pointless protest. Mainly out of frustration. 

"Sorry if you were after this guy, Danna. We cops have to follow orders sometimes". Okita dragged Watanabe across the room. 

"You're only following orders now to piss me off, Okita-kun!" 

A delighted smirk crossed Okita's lips as he made a clean and swift getaway out the door for the cops to collect the so-called criminal mastermind themselves. Countered by the cops and the overbearing possibility of being thrown in behind old-fashioned steel bars, Gintoki was at a stand-still. In his position, with his status, he couldn't stay in this tiny room much longer, especially since a group of grown men were tossing and turning downstairs with injured heads, spleens and broken limbs. However the door couldn't have been more out of his reach. The shadow of another demon cast over his back and a hand dug its nails securely beneath his tattered suit sleeve and into the skin. 

"Oi, you're not going anywhere, Yaksha. You're gonna come with me and answer a few questions". 

"Fuck off - I'm not going with you". Gintoki swiped his arm out of Hijikata's grasp without needing the effort. Two windows lay on the opposite side of the room, both peering at the next building above a narrow alleyway. An escape route, of sorts. "Sorry, Mr Police Officer, but I have another engagement to attend. Specifically, to lop off my pinky finger - 'cause now I'm gonna have to apologise to my boss. You ass!" 

"Hold on! I said you're not going-...!" 

A quick dash to the wall, far away from the safer exit, and Gintoki flung open the window behind him in an intense desperation to part ways with the demonic Vice-Chief of the Shinsengumi. A heavy draft whistled past the frame, papers scattered to the floor in an underwhelming wave. Beyond this tiny window was a tiny balcony that didn't lead anywhere except down. Only concrete lay below if Gintoki was idiotic enough to jump and expect to go unscathed. 

"Stop! Don't move! Get your ass back in the-...!" 

"Bye-bye~, Mr Policeman!" 

"...!" 

Diving legs-first through the open window, Gintoki leaped through the wind onto the gated balcony. Immediately after landing he jump over once more, swinging himself around at the last second, grabbing onto the base of the railings with bloody hands. He was totally out of sight from inside this dim office. Hijikata lunged himself forward, climbing out through the window in a less stylish fashion. Peering over the railings he could see the top of Gintoki's head while he gave it his all, skidding down from the wall below, landing onto the ground - undoubtedly bleeding from the hands -- knees scraped like he simply fell off his bike. 

And off he went, running down through the back alleyway and out of Hijikata's, or any cop's, reach. Again. 

Hijikata stood there while the wind messed up his hair, and this second unworldly escape messed up his composure completely. Angered, he slammed his fist to the unsteady railing. The structure trebled beneath him but he did not move. Rubbing the red patch that marked his forehead thereafter, once he calmed down, he hissed. A throbbing headache after a violent conflict like that was expected within the evening. 

"Huh, so rude". Fumiko muttered. She decided to stand right behind Hijikata, possibly smirking in the same aloof, maybe mocking, fashion Hijikata had taken notice of the first time they properly exchanged introductions. "First time we've been in the same room for a while and he greets you first, Officer. You and Gin-san must be quite close". 

"I wouldn't put it that way myself, Miss". 

To put aside the fact that this woman was even familiar with a man like Gintoki Sakata, it was brazen of her to assume he and Hijikata were close - if not said to be sarcastic or witty. Tonight was perhaps the ultimate proof of Hijikata's ill feelings towards the White Yaksha currently dashing through the streets with sore ankles and scratched-up hands. The hatred and the anger was mutual. Crossing paths with the likes of him was burdening Hijikata more and more each time with little patience or composure left to spare. 

Sounded awfully petty, didn't it? That, perhaps, annoyed Hijikata the most. He swore if Gintoki ever so much as looked at him he would hesitate to drop a pair of cuffs around his wrists, dragging him to the station on foot if he had to. If he continued to let a man so childish and audacious push his buttons, more than Okita could ever dream of doing, Hijikata feared that he may go mad. 

...

"Zura, check it out! I've got some good news!" 

The dusty old cabaret office was too much to bear after spending nearly two long hours in there wafting through all the information they collected so far in a short amount of time. So Katsura's office became the suitable, clean location to stack notes and files by...by the bushel, as Sakamoto so inaccurately named it. The fruits of their research was minor, but Sakamoto's sudden excitement may have become the turning point in their investigation. 

"What is it? Did you find anything on the mole?" 

"Yes I did. And it only took me all night. Thank God for coffee, huh, Zura?" 

"Uh-...huh...". 

The stylised clock sitting on Katsura's desk, the one shaped into a bird-like creature with big eyes and a stubby beak known as "Elizabeth", read that it was roughly one o'clock in the morning already. The number of coffee batches Sakamoto had seen tonight was unmeasured by Katsura, mainly because he was seeing to the file on his desk that needed to be organised until Sakamoto gathered useful gossip or patterns that this mole exposed in his work. The question whether this mole was a man or a woman was still debatable, according to Katsura. 

"See, thanks to our accountants back in the business district, I was able to uncover various balances in all the Takasugi Family's employees. Since our mole is suspected to be an older brother, and is operating other shady business schemes on the side, it's easy to assume that he's making more money than the rest of us - of course, excluding me". 

"You managed to narrow it down in only a few hours?" 

"No, the accountants did that. Pay attention, Zura". 

"I narrowed it down to two out of the six older brothers in the family, including us. Firstly there's Daichi Yoshida. He's one of our cabaret club managers working around Kabukicho and the Golden Gai. Plenty of his profits go to the Family, but his account is a lot heavier than it should be". 

Katsura had never met the guy. Sakamoto must have been an acquaintance in terms of the occupational field they shared. That aside, his title made sense. If he had influence of the cabaret scene, it would be a lot easier for real estate agents to get their hands on competing businesses and their money. 

"And the other guy?" 

"Hikaru Matsumoto - a real estate advisor who's currently working on a big project in Shibuya. As far as I know, he'll be there for another three months. But, according to Takasugi, the few realtors working for us also have fixed payments. Though it's a lot, there should be a limit to their income somewhere". 

"I'm really impressed, Tatsuma - honestly. This is good work". 

"See? I told ya I was helpful. You guys doubt me way to much". No, as far as everyone was concerned, doubting Sakamoto was always the safe option to dive into when the stakes are too high to risk anything colossally idiotic or dangerous. 

"All we need now is a plan to approach them both. Strategically, and professionally".

"Oh we can do that. Meanwhile Gintoki is beating the crap out of Watanabe in Lieutenant Bansai's secret dungeon". 

"Heh, believe me, if he was allowed to do that, he wouldn't be stuck in an older brother status". 

"By the way, have you ever seen the basement? You know, way below headquarters". 

"No, and I don't care too. You hear all sorts of stories about that place and the men who are dragged down there - it surprises me that the Lieutenant can sleep at night". 

Talking about Bansai Kawakami, and the other commanding officers in the Family wasn't common - like gossiping over tea and donuts in the break room of any old office. If it were that easy, the second Lieutenant wouldn't be as scary as he's made out to be. Who the hell knows. 

"Kintoki isn't afraid of him, though". 

"No, he isn't. The other night he called Kawakami-dono "Lieutenant Deadpan"...". 

"Hahaha! No way! Man, I'm envious of Kintoki. He can literally get away with murder in this place and Takasugi-shi doesn't say a word!" 

"I think that's because he's gradually coming up with a plan to kill him". 

Sakamoto exploded into an exaggerated fit of laughter. After a while of knowing the guy you can understand that it's not exaggerated at all. From there you fall into silence and let the noise die down too. 

"Hey, Tatsuma, we should probably continue this tomorrow. It's too late to be carrying out anymore work". 

"Ya sure?" 

"Yes. We'll come up with a plan tomorrow and run it through with Takasugi. Hopefully we hear from Gintoki too. No doubt he's successfully carrying out the job". 

Gintoki wouldn't tell Katsura about his colossal, untimely failure within an inch of his life. While Katsura and Sakamoto peacefully slipped off out the office to get a car home, Gintoki was pacing over and over in his head over his next move. From here, the tightrope of events could only become unsteady. Each clumsy step a misdirected action leading to another failure. Thanks to the Mayora Moron. 

Somewhere Gintoki was crouching with an outdoor faucet, letting the water splash around his tattered hands covered in dirt and blood. He'd have to tear up a suit sleeve for bandages, and the other for a make-shift rope to go around Hijikata's neck. He was tormented by that man to the point of pure, blind rage where nothing made sense and that guy was the only obstacle in the world to get in his way this much. 

Just as Hijikata would state himself, the ill-feelings could not have been any more mutual. 

"Agh! Damn that Mayonnaise-sucking bastard!" He would scream into the echo of the night until the neighbouring dogs howled. 

If he ever crossed paths with that maniac again he was determined to tear him to shreds. All the creative ways Gintoki conjured up were blatantly impossible to carry out in real life without being deemed a psychopath or man-child. Still, leave a man to his imagination and let reality figure out the rest alongside him. The truth was, as a matter of fact, Gintoki could never lay a finger on Hijikata. And Hijikata could never lay a finger on him. 

If that wasn't obvious to the both of them the next time they met or however many times after that, there was absolutely no hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will definitely have more scenes, and the story will develop from there.
> 
> That's all I have to say. I'll read up on actions scenes from some of the books I have stored away on my shelf and see if I can get inspired to write them out in a way that's interesting.
> 
> Wish me luck. Toodles :3


	3. Demons Prowling Arc: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired.
> 
> If there are some tiny spelling errors I'll go back and fix them, but this took more than two rewrites before I was happy with it, but even then I typed away quite quickly so there is probably one or two typos.
> 
> No matter. If it's still an enjoyable experience to read this, then that's all that matters.

Daylight was by far the most ineffective cover when charging head first into guarded territory under the guise of "just passing by". The same goddamn black and white cars covered the streets underneath the rays of the sun, and many, uncountable men on the force were taking up space in a new crime scene all thanks to their nosy Vice-Commander. Cops had flooded the bar from the previous night including the neighbouring area with every interview for every witness available.

In an ambiguous murder instance the number of troops would be foreseen. For some reason the heaving bodies of unconscious men piled up across the bar floor raised questions about a white-haired hooligan running rampant around the city with a wooden stick, they said. That's what they said, dammit!

If the men who were beaten to the ground gave a witness testimony about this supposed "psychotic natural-permed lunatic", then, yes, it was no wonder the police were looking high and low for evidence of the guy. The nagging intuition rattling around Gintoki's brain had this strange idea that Toushirou Hijikata was the spearhead of this mini-investigation. He believed the white-haired samurai-wannabe was involved in the bigger picture of Takahiro Watanabe and the loan sharks. This was no longer about the street brawl a couple nights ago where Gintoki so happened to jump into the fray to defend a wimpy college boy.

Now here he was: trapped smack-dap in the middle of some other asshole's mess - believing Hijikata's interference to be the most irritating, unnecessary factor in this job of his. From a safe distance he kept tabs on the scene of the crime. His crime now. A low-key motel stood a few yards away, tucked behind another, shorter building. If he returned to his apartment in a hurry, Katsura and Sakamoto would look for him there, asking if he fulfilled his end of the job. He wanted to avoid a calamity so mortifying.

From the room's window, through a frame of rotted wood and damp, Gintoki surveyed the tiny layout below where the cops continued to linger. Wouldn't be long before they left for a spot of coffee, or another, much more urgent job that would grant Gintoki access to whatever information was left. The chances that the pigs cleaned out Watanabe's office was excruciatingly sky-high. The more Gintoki brought himself to think about it he would rub the sleep sand scratching his eyes and remember that rest was for the weak or the weary. The longer the failure dragged out, the less sleep he got. The last time he was this sleep deprived the last sentence he uttered the entire night was, and quote: "Tatsuma, I am high as balls right now".

The now-Autumn breeze swept through into the room. Tiny pimples popped up around his arms from under big, cloth sleeves. Never had he felt so unwashed. Irritated around the fingers too. The blood stopped seeping at one point or another but the occasional throb in the palm jumped up when he least expected it. He scratched around the base of his thigh where yet another itch would bring red raw rashes - probably the bed sheets or the mattress that reeked of cat piss and men's sweat as a result of more sleepless nights.

"Dammit...". He glanced away from the window, hissing when the soreness wouldn't disappear no matter how far he dug his nails into the skin.

From the spot where some scruffy ruffian slashed him the nipping spread. There weren't any gauss or painkillers hidden away in the room's bathroom cabinet, but that may have also been the safest option. Never take strange pills in a strange place. Some weirdoes switch that stuff out or put something else entirely inside the bottles for the hell of it.

"I'm back, Gin-san~. Miss me?"

Gintoki almost suffered a heart-attack when the door opened up behind him - the creaking noise rendered silent when a bubbly exclamation burst into the room instead. Carefully he took his sweet time to remember he left it unlocked for a certain someone to barge right on in after last night, as they pleased. Not a lover, or even an escort (who would be brave enough to pick up a rough-looking hooligan like this off the street), but a friend who charged into this filthy sanctuary of her own accord and treated poor Gintoki Sakata's bleeding wounds.

"Hey, Fumiko". He sighed, turning around to greet her properly.

She was in a less made-up state without the layers of make-up or pretty, soft-looking dresses. The missus walked straight into the room showing off a ponytail and a trendy skirt cut down to her knees. Any less than that and Gintoki would stare. In her hand, thank God, she brought a bulging plastic bag from the convenience store a couple blocks away. Beneath that, a familiar pharmacy logo with cat ears and a Chesure grin, clouded by the transparent plastic of the convenience store carrier. In the other, a wide, flattened black bag slumped over her forearm.

"You're gonna love me". She skipped into the room, winking her eye, laying out the items over the unorganised bedding. "I got some snacks - various things since I'm not sure what you like - some more painkillers, fresh bandages 'n' band aids, and finally some new clothes. Something casual".

"Thanks, doll. Much appreciated".

"Oh it's no worries but you owe me this time. Now sit your ass down so we can changed your bandages. Not that the first layer helped much; you bled on the mattress".

"The cuts aren't that deep".

"Doesn't matter, we can't have you walk around without being treated properly. Now sit".

Fumiko smacked the mattress, commanding and less upbeat than she normally was. The mattress was stiff beneath Gintoki once he propped himself up on top of it, groaning from the backache and the burn wrapping itself around his flesh like a cloth soaked in hot tar. Fumiko disappeared into the bathroom beyond the end of the bed. From where Gintoki sat he could watch over her bring out a simple wash basis from the floor and fill it to the brim with cold water.

The bag she brought was slumped over, so Gintoki thought to put his curiosity to rest by taking a peek at the snacks and whatnot. Like she said, there were candies and savoury treats of different flavours and brands so there was no telling if strawberry or vanilla was included in the mix. The painkillers and bandages were tucked away inside beneath a freshly bought patterned cloth that she went out of her way to pick out. No reason for her to decide on any particular design, but knowing her, she pondered over at least two eye-catching patterns and simply couldn't decide which one to go for. In a cheeky spur of the moment, Gintoki reached inside and flipped the cloth up. Underneath lay a second with an equally trimmed, colourful pattern.

"Okie-dokie". Fumiko hurried back into the room, dropping the basin down onto the bed's end table with a clunk.

Cold wet spots splashed around the bed and neither she or he cared much for the spill. A routine had passed itself around in Gintoki's head that told him time and time again to strip and let the better person, male or female, play nurse for a bit on his treatable cuts and gashes. He untied the sash of the tacky yukata that was rubbing him the wrong way with its uncomfortable material and dried lipstick stains. The shoulders fell down past his already bandaged back, but the rest remained curled up around his waist. The mattress creaked stiffly when one occupant became two without intimate intentions included.

"Try to hold still, alright? This may hurt a little".

Gintoki took a breath, relaxing his hands around his knees. The old, blood-stained bandage strips around his back and stomach were cut up for the sake of swiftness, each falling around him one idly slashed piece at a time. A cloth was wrung out through the ice-cold water, touching the scald marking Gintoki's back before he could prepare himself for the worst stinging imaginable. What he felt in the first wave was manageable. Bearable to a mere man, numb to the White Yaksha who had faced greater.

"Good boy, good boy...". Fumiko hummed, tempted to place her uncoated lips on bare skin.

A smile crossed them instead. Infatuated with the colours and the patterns covering Gintoki's back she stared in wonder. Something about the picture drew up a smirk - sparked curiosity deep within her mind. Like the sweet girl she chose to be, Fumiko held herself back from asking questions, what with the wide, pale face staring right at her with big, spiritless eyes and gorging teeth. A monster with its claws latched onto the man. The cloth was wrung out again. The water dirtied through the spread of dried blood. There was plenty of it still climbing through the new scars.

"How do you feel?" She asked in a low whisper, stroking the red lily around his shoulder, brushing her fingers down a chestnut branch - covered in lilies.

"Sore. And pissed".

"Oh, why's that?"

"You were there. That goddamn Mayora got in the way of work". A roll of the shoulder and the tension worsened in his back. He could specifically recall landing on the hardwood floor, sliding across with a cut wound the size of his forearm splitting the skin further.

"Mayora?"

"The dude with V-shaped hair and the eyes of a traumatised delinquent".

"Ohh, you mean the handsome Vice-Chief!"

"Gh...!" Gintoki bit down hard on his lip when the foreign burn of a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant dabbed his skin. "If that's how ya see him...". He grumbled and bent his back over in a foetal position. The best pat in the back he could offer himself was to dig his fingertips into the yukata until the damn thing ripped apart.

"Yes. I thought you two were quite close - with all the fighting and...".

"You enjoy the show?" Barely a snicker left Gintoki's lips, one of them now slightly bruised and throbbing.

"Mm-hm. I thought it was precious seeing you both get so worked-up".

Gintoki hissed sharply. The cotton ball was bouncing around his arm now, thus he reflexively thrust it away in the opposite direction from the fiery tough love and tear-jerking ointments soaking his skin. Fumiko very gently pulled his shoulder back. Her tender approach went unchanged with the smile of a caring mother naturally sticking with her - like nature's call asked her to be understanding of this man's petty cuts and baby boy bruises inflicted by grown men who, honestly, could have done worse. Weaklings.

"Oi, Fumiko, you almost done back there?"

"Now don't get antsy. You can get up and take a shower when I say so. Once you have, I'll have to bandage you up. And then, lucky you, you can eat".

Oh, yes...Lucky him. Lucky ol' Gin-san with a mountain of work to do in a short amount of time with a shitload of cops gnawing on his tail for his arrest. Lucky, lucky guy, Gin-san...

...

Fresh bandages were fitted around Gintoki's cut left arm and gashed waist. The bruises would brown and heal at a slow pace, but not as slow as broken skin and a figurative kick to the balls by the district's pigs in uniforms. The whole shit-fest writhed around in his head to the point where he couldn't fully enjoy the box of Pocky sitting in front of him, coated in the sweetest artificial strawberry flavour he'd ever tasted thus far.

Fumiko dished out a water bottle to him. With it, Gintoki swallowed his painkillers, two at a time, and sat back semi-comfortably in this creaky, wooden chair. The young lady sitting across from him, sipping her own bottled water, drifted off into absent thoughts where Gintoki couldn't be involved. He didn't much care to pry into the perverse mind of a mystery woman.

"Gin-san, do you want to know why I was there that night?"

"At the bar or this hotel?" He responded accordingly but didn't think to dig any deeper than that if the end result would just be for naught; prying into these matters only to never receive a straight answer. So it was a bit daunting when Fumiko brought it all up by herself.

"The bar".

"Are you gonna tell me why? If you're teasing me, I'm not interested, Missy".

She giggled.

"I was expecting you to be full of questions too. Your cop friend certainly asked plenty of then. It's quite ironic that getting an interrogation from you could be so dull".

"I'm not interrogating you, though, am I? Unless you're willing to help me out in some way - I wouldn't mind at least a hint if you've got one. That is if you have any reason to help me in the first place".

As mysterious as they come, but not at all threatening of callous. Dishonest but trustworthy in Gintoki's book. He saw very little harm in exchanging words with Fumiko. The woman liked to talk yet there was so much she kept under the table and out of sight. Her objectives were as shaded and unclear as her reasons for teasing Gintoki like this.

"My reasons for ever giving you a helping hand are my own, Gin-san. If I were to tell you, I might get in trouble".

"Ah...That so".

"I know it sounds bizarre and awkward, but trust me".

"I guess I can do that".

Fumiko sipped her water. A sassy smirk lay beneath the rim of the bottle. From the moment she moved it away from her wetted lips, she leaned in a little closer. Shameless as can be, Gintoki was temporarily drawn to her breasts pressing hard against the brunt of her crossed forearms - then wised-up quicker than you can scream "pervert", focusing squarely on her deviant eyes and words as they spilled out one at a time.

"See...I got to know the bar incredibly well during the months that I sat around, drinking martinis, and chatting with the bartender. What caught my eye after months of adapting to the place was the little details you tend not to notice at first glance".

"...?"

"For example, the flowers printed on the walls were said to be hand-painted by a well-known artist, signature and all. An artist who turned out to be a professional forger. The books filling Watanabe's shelves are all fake - something for show. And the flooring behind the bar has a faulty spot where the boards open up because the second wave of construction workers who built the place cut corners".

"...You don't say".

"Hmhm, see? I now know the place like the back of my hand, unlike the police officers down there".

Leering down near the window a third time, Gintoki watched the uniforms gather in their cars. Some drove off and some stuck around with little investigatory work left in this one location. They had been at it all morning, they had to stop sometime.

"What're the chances that they've picked up on the faulty architecture?"

"You may have to take a gander yourself to find out, honey. I'll keep an eye on you, too. Or you could rest here and I'll give you a five star back rub. Hmm?"

Gintoki chuckled, saddened by the missed opportunity. Now the hell storm of anguish would have to go numb on its own, another evening spent alone in a futon fit for two. He kept his eyes focused on the outside with interest and a hopefulness that there could be a chance to recover from his fall and show that nosy Vice-Commander who's boss. It was a big leap over rushing waters, but the end goal was right there in his reach. He hoped to God that the goal wasn't capable of moving around any time soon.

...

Murky even under scorching rays of the sun, Takasugi Headquarters cast shadows as wide as the room itself from windows covered by curtains. The light barely touched the upper floors, where most of the windows were built. Today the hall was empty. The stairs unoccupied. Not a voice whispering through the corridor's echo as a reminder that this was a yakuza's sanctuary, untouchable to the authorities.

Coming around the bend of a hallway located on the ground floor was Lieutenant Bansai Kawakami. He carried a message, as well as the shamisen on his back. The only person who needed to listen was Takasugi. Normally the boss would be cracking down on work within his office, no breaks, no interruptions until he said so from behind his desk. Today, however, he was caught up in a last minute meeting within Headquarters' tea room of all places early in the morning. Settings such as Takasugi's main office or the conference room would be more appropriate but not on this occasion when the entire schedule was flipped to suit this sudden guest.

Still Bansai had his duties. A bow and an apology could come as soon as the room had cleared but would need to be pushed back a while longer until this urgent message was delivered. The little tea room was barely ever in use even for the few ranks that were permitted to sit inside and drink their troubles away. Paperwork and meetings was a daily chore. Not a hell of a lot of time for breaks or sitting around when the yakuza are kept on their toes all day and a couple of the remaining hours in the evening. Sitting down was for desk chairs, the floor pillows in meeting rooms and toilet seats.

What Bansai came across during his walk around the hallway, past a long, outstretched wall of sliding doors that led to the courtyard, was Matako dicking around right outside the tea room in a bent over position, piercing her gaze through the slight crack in between the thinly layered doors.

"Matako, what are you doing?"

Bansai's toneless voice reached her at an alarming rate where she was suddenly swept under her feet. The shoulder blades sticking out from her slender back contorted and a distorted gasp escaped her. She stood up straight, turning her deadly dagger of a gaze at Bansai for his sudden reappearing act in the middle of whatever she was wasting time with now.

" _Me?!_ The hell are _you_ doin' - sneakin' up on me like that?!" She hissed in a low whisper, audible enough for Bansai to idly listen to. Even when her hostility had jumped through the roof, Bansai remained as measured as ever, as expected of him.

"I asked you first. You're acting awfully strangely, I daresay. Spying on Shinsuke is unorthodox".

"I wasn't spying!" She continued to whisper through flushed cheeks.

"Looks to me like you're spying. Listen, Shinsuke is currently occupied in a last-minute meeting, so why don't you head back to your station and assist Takechi?"

"You bet it's last minute!" Matako grumbled, throwing her foot at the door, but purposefully leaving no impact on the paper material. "Showin' up outta the blue last minute...A total waste of Shinsuke-sama's time! Like...Like...Gyaaaah! I can't take it! What the hell are they talking about in there?!"

She completely brushed Bansai and the idea of assisting Takechi off like a layer of dust. Normally she would refuse to work with "a lolicon pervert like him" but the fact that she was so focused on Takasugi offered Bansai some insight on this girl's priorities.

"Why are you so concerned in the first place? It's none of your business".

"It's none of _your_ business what...my...concerns are!" She stammered, abashed - no doubt. "A-anyway, you mind tellin' me what your excuse is?!"

Matako was flustered beyond belief. Bansai, despite acknowledging this with a quiet pity for her, reacted normally to her tantrum. Although you'd have to spell out the term "normally" because no one really knew what the fuck that meant with him.

"I have a message for Shinsuke concerning Katsura-san and Sakamoto-san's task in hunting down the mole. It's important that I speak with him as soon as possible".

"Yeah, well, whatever. Get in line. Sheesh, what's takin' Shinsuke-sama so long anyway?"

Beyond this paper-thin door was the quiet glow of the sunlight pouring in through the glass panes built on the far side of the floor. A quaint, solid little table sat in the centre of the room surrounded by pillows lying around in various, organised places. Shelves had been built into the architecture, and decorated with porcelain vases and traditional teapots. Closest to the glass doors leading outside, there were two pillows placed side-by-side, although they remained at arms length from each other for personal space purposes.

Kneeling uncomfortably on those pillows were Takasugi, of course, and a young woman on the other. They stared out towards the courtyard where a simply stone garden had been built many years beforehand. Right next door to the tranquillity of the garden were training grounds; unoccupied and equally peaceful. The scent of tea herbs wafted around through the breeze entering the air from the outside. A crack in the glass doors left a cool sensation running around the walls and ceiling...

Running through long, stylishly curled strands of chestnut tinted hair, flowing naturally with a single hairpin shown off for fashion rather than tradition or neatness. Her dress, too, lacked traditional design or patterns. Not a kimono nor a yukata, but a summer dress covered in little red polka dots around thin, snow white material with various frills to go. Upon her thumb lay a ring a couple sizes too big for her pinky or any other finger. It shined brightly, like the artificial pink polish coating her shapely nails.

This was Hibiki Onishi. The daintiest of princesses come to life from a fairy tale to sit here in a yakuza's tea room with a smile on her made-up face.

Between them lay a thick scrapbook that Hibiki had hauled all the way here from home. Paper and coloured tissue stuck out here and there, the pages gaps apart with every new feature glued in. Blushing, Hibiki presented this book to Takasugi on that day with an innocent eagerness she had been bottling up for the longest time. The pages flipped over stiffly. The first decorated with hand-drawn images of different flowers on neatly cut scraps of card. The details were intricate and realistic, the colours varied depending on the flower - consisting of whites and pinks and reds, peaches and soft yellows.

"Now, feel free to add your thoughts, but I was thinking - _imagining_ \- white orchids and pink lilies for the centrepiece. Little old me knows that you secretly like orchids, so I thought...It would be fitting to have both our favourite flowers together as a symbol".

"If my preferred flowers are a secret, won't the guests fail to understand the symbolism?"

"Well not everyone has to know. After all, I only ever told my mother and my sisters. The closest people in our lives can understand while the other guests can appreciate the display for what it is".

"If you say so".

Takasugi took a long drag of his kiseru, putting on his own faint little display across his lips for presentation rather than for the sake of sincerity.

"Have you decided what kimono you're going to wear? I've already picked my dress, so...".

"Sorry. Haven't had time. Work's been keeping me busy, you know that".

"That's perfectly alright! But, just in case, I did put together some designs I thought would suit you".

"Are we not wearing traditional black and white?"

"I'm not worried about tradition. After all, my dress is a little more western. Father was livid when he saw the design I picked, so Mother's still trying to convince him to look past it. You can still wear a black kimono, but I thought it could use something extra that suits you best".

"Well, you know me...".

"Of course I do! You know I'd pay attention to your tastes, Shinsuke-kun".

"Hm...".

"Now...".

Hibiki flipped through the pages as fast as her fingers could carry them before she came to a specific patterned sheet of paper. Materials of all different colours and designs covered the entire sheet like a quilt. The glue had seeped through some of the thin fabrics, but nothing really faded away.

"Since you're still wearing black, we can take some of these patterns and have a tailor prepare them together. First I thought that this flower pattern would be nice - if there were a few of them lined down the side of the kimono...".

Hibiki pointed to a maroon coloured piece of fabric, decorated with golden outlines of orchids - Orchids again. Then she tapped her fingertip to a series violet and purple butterflies, smiling cheekily.

"I think this one would suit you best too. I'm sure you know why".

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ehehe, I didn't think you'd take to offence, after all it's-...?"

Hibiki suddenly froze up without Takasugi being aware of it as his eyes were staring blankly at the designs in front of him. The eagerness in Hibiki far surpassed the still, spiritless image that was Shinsuke Takasugi. Her heart sank when she stopped to think...

"Shinsuke-kun, am I thinking about all of this too much?"

"Hm?"

"I've been stressing over this for a long, long, long time. I've wanted to discuss this with you for ages, but now I suddenly feel like I'm getting ahead of myself. I just want everything to be perfect but...I haven't even asked how you're feeling about all of this. You've been so busy that I didn't really get a chance. Sorry".

"Don't apologise. It's pointless".

"Eh?"

"I've only heard that this could be the happiest day of a woman's life, but looking at you I can see why. No one's going to scold you for getting ahead of yourself on ideas about which dress to wear, what colour the carpets will be or what pattern of plates to use. You're free to paint a perfect picture and discuss it, especially with me".

"Then why...".

"You'll have to forgive me. I haven't been sleeping too well as of late".

"Seriously? No wonder you're so pale. Have you been eating your meals properly?"

"Who knows". Takasugi blew out a final breath of smoke before placing his kiseru back down onto the table with it's special display.

"That's not good enough, Shinsuke-kun! I want you to be healthy! If you're not, I'll worry".

"I know you will".

Hibiki sulked away at Takasugi's total disregard for his own health. He felt alienated being in a room with a ball of wonder and cheer when he himself was so drab and unenthusiastic. She sighed deeply. A smile returned to her face. Even a tint of red glowed across her cheeks upon squeezing Takasugi's hand, despite him not returning the favour. The gesture made him feel like the woman on the receiving end of intimacy - a role he'd rather not become accustomed to if she was going to continue to be so pushy...in her own little way.

"You know you won't have to worry soon enough. When the time comes, I'll be the one to take good care of you. S-see, I'm learning how to cook and sew and...I suppose I've been practicing a lot with my sister's youngest children...".

"Huh...?"

"See? I'm getting ahead of myself - but just because I'm excited. Excited to experience everything new with you, Shinsuke-kun".

"Slow down a second. You've completely lost me".

"Aww, don't be shy!"

"I'm not shy".

"Yes you are, Mr Grumpy. Your cheeks are all red!"

"Like hell they are...".

Behind them the sliding doors opened up. Whether it was on cue, judging by Hibiki's sudden desire to cling on to Takasugi, or impatience, Bansai opened up an entrance into the room. From behind him, Matako skedaddled in the opposite direction and down the hall to avoid being questioned by the man she spied on not two seconds ago.

"Excuse me, Shinsuke". He called out, knowing he was barging in, though unaware that Takasugi was relieved to have him enter even without consent.

"Bansai...What is it?"

"I have important business to discuss with you. I'm afraid it's urgent".

"I see...".

The half-empty cup of lukewarm tea was left on the floor to turn cold. Not another sip was taken from it. In turn, after Hibiki's brazen display of affection, Takasugi subtly grasped her hands as a charming way to pull his out from the bear trap. He didn't smile nor waver in any shape or form. Merely he found the will to look her right in the eyes and speak clearly like a gentleman.

"You'll have to forgive me, Hibiki, but I'll return shortly to continue drinking tea with you. I'm sure we have a maple brand somewhere that'll suit your tastes. Nice and sweet". He pet her hair softly between his fingers, stroking each strand delicately.

"See what I mean? It's always work, work, work - just go. Go ahead and do your job".

Unsurprising that she was disappointed with him. Right about now Takasugi felt his drive to continue pleasing her was forced but necessary. He sighed, discontent, but carried his will onward. First to lean in a little closer and place a snappy, sincere-as-possible, kiss on her forehead. The foreignness of the gesture touched her in ways she couldn't fathom in a mere second or two before he stood up and left her alone to wonder if she was the first to receive his affection.

"I'll be right back, so no sulking, okay?" He was standing, taller than he normally did - his height spurting up due to the boots giving his feet a bit of a boost.

"...I'm not sulking, Grumpy". Slowly, reluctantly, Hibiki let go of his hands. She let him walk off. Sadly she was still liable to sulk, having missed her chance to snag his first kiss on the lips. It was suspected that he had never kissed anyone else, so she scolded herself for missing out on a golden opportunity.

Takasugi shut the doors behind him on his way out. Solemn, composed. He sure shed his husband-material mask quickly as soon as his back was turned away from the golden roses of intimacy. He dared to step far away from it's thorns.

"Shall we speak in the conference room?"

"Yes, Shinsuke. I'll have Matako prepare a pot of tea since she doesn't have much work left".

"Thank you. And please make sure it's something lighter. Those tea leaves Ichigo brought were foul".

...

A rectangular room was left bare for Takasugi to sit and listen to the message Katsura had apparently passed along from a street payphone. Having left his kiseru in the tea room, Takasugi helped himself to one of his dirtier cigarettes saved in the breast pocket of Bansai's suit jacket. He brought it between his lips. And, on cue, Bansai leaned in with a lighter in hand to set the cigarette aflame. The first drag was satisfying, yet the taste of tobacco was always vulgar as it sullied Takasugi's composure when he felt like he deserved to relax and let his mind drift elsewhere for a bit.

"Now, what have you heard from those two? Good news, I hope". Takasugi cleared his throat. The smoke escaped in bursts but it didn't keep him from taking another drag.

"Apparently they've tracked down two possible suspects - narrowing it down from their bank accounts".

"Interesting how it was that simple. Good to know not everyone in the family is conspiring against me".

"Hm, indeed. They would know better than to cross such a thin line of trust".

The Takasugi had been built from the very foundation of trust. A fragile foundation but a vital one. Men were picked left and right from the Takasugi circle so a stray roaming free from the rest of the pack, rabid and all, was a rare incident. Most knew that the elitists covering Takasugi's back thrived on setting an example to lower ranks. Today that example failed to dig deeply into the heads of two high-and-mighty dogs.

"I'm sure you have the names of these two suspects?"

"I believe it was Daichi Yoshida of the Akagawa faction, and Hikaru Matsumoto of the Budou faction here in our network".

They were newbie's to boot - only two and four years into the family, reaching fairly stable ranks due to their status as businessmen.

"I see. It makes sense, though, given their occupations. However I thought they would be smarter than that; to cross me and incidentally make asses of themselves".

"Do you think there's a chance that they're both working together then?"

"Sure I do. Having a real estate CEO on your side would save trouble trying to convince some other, untrustworthy company to work for you - especially if you're yakuza. And having a cabaret club boss can have its benefits on the nightlife scene. How much have they made, do you suppose?"

"Taking all of their profits into account - the one's you manage at least - Takechi estimated at least ten-million in unregistered profits within the last two to three months".

"They really have half-assed their work. They dare steal the family's money behind our backs, not to mention it's been going on for twelve weeks. I surely have to give credit where credit is due: they were sneaky, for a little while. What's Katsura's next move? I'm sure he has a plan already".

"Katsura-san said they would bring both men to you, though the contents of his plan haven't been revealed yet. I'm sure he'd want you to contact him personally".

"Good man. As much as he can be a moron, Zura does have his own spark as a leader, making a smart decision such as that. I suppose they'll be going on a manhunt. And what of Gintoki?"

Bansai shook his head. Being the barer of bad news had become his day job since taking charge of those three men, but this was ridiculous.

"They haven't heard anything".

"Of course they haven't. That's so like him...".

"But Katsura-san did ask that you fax further instructions to his apartment before making any sudden moves".

That was doable. Takasugi wasn't going to put up a fuss as long as Katsura was thinking over this tactically. If it were Gintoki in charge, considering his current, anonymous position, any chance of bringing Daichi and Matsumoto to their knees would crumble. Takasugi wanted to meet the men himself, and deal with them as he saw fit. If they were to die without context given to the rest of the family or the authorities, it would be a catastrophe. Yes, Gintoki was just that reckless, albeit strong.

"Fair enough. Have we looked into any of the businesses that Daichi and Matsumoto have handled without my supervision?"

"While you were meeting Miss Hibiki, yes. It seems that several businesses owned by Matsumoto Real Estate have seen a peculiar raise in rent, leading to several cases of eviction or swats, as well as a number of cabaret clubs who used to be owned by two other real estate companies. But the name of the new owner remained blank".

"Such petty stupidity - it's laughable. Did they really think these changes would go unnoticed?"

"It wasn't easy digging up all these business names, incomes and so on - having nearly no documents, since Matsumoto is likely keeping them hidden away in his office - but we managed".

"Yes, indeed you did. Now, I'm sure you an I both can come up with some creative form of discipline for when they are brought here, on their knees. After all, we have to set an example to the other pawns in the game, don't we?"

"Of course, Shinsuke".

A very rare smile appeared on Bansai's face. Takasugi being the only person alive to have seen it smiled in return with quiet satisfaction.

"Thank you very much, Bansai. I'll have someone attempt to contact Gintoki as well. I swear that idiot just runs off on his own without a word - it's so bothersome".

"And yet you continue to entrust him with delicate work. Not that I'm criticising you, Shinsuke, I have no right to do so".

"Nah, it's fine. Never mind. He'd better contact us soon. God only knows what kind of trouble that moron could land himself in. If I was correct to trust him, I doubt he'll make a complete mess of his job. If he does, he can join Daichi and Matsumoto".

Trust is one of the most delicate elements to any partnership, friendship, and so on. Takasugi's was especially delicate, thus he kept many at a distance and only his good friends at arm's length. Gintoki was on odd case. A stray that tends to wander off on its own even when fully aware of the leash tied around its neck. Stubborn but overflowing with physical and mental strength. A job such as this couldn't have been too hard for him no matter which route he took in handling it. Takasugi thought so to himself in confidence, albeit an intense confidence strutting across a wire tightrope.

He stood from the conference table, but was soon to stop in his track at the utterance of a single phrase. 

"The tea roses...". Bansai murmured, staring out of the window closest to him in a peaceful sort of daze. 

"Hm? What was that, Bansai?" 

"Oh, I was just saying...The blue moon tea roses have really - ahem - sprouted. I'm sure you're quite pleased with them, I daresay. After all, you were always fond of them". 

How unlike Bansai. His demeanour had shifted. Yes his usually calmness played out nicely but there was a tinge of something more that just got Takasugi smiling - Smiling like never before. 

"It's rather rude to eavesdrop, Bansai. I would expect such an act from Matako, honestly, but from you? No". 

They looked at each other. And even Bansai was smiling, albeit he was (nervously?) scratching a spot behind his ear, speechless, otherwise unfazed. Takasugi stared out of the window, distracted from work for perhaps only a few short minutes to admire the garden that lay out of the tea room's sight. Bansai was right... 

The tea roses were in full bloom; they had grown exceptionally well, in Takasugi's eyes. 

Much more than...The other flowers. 

...

"Tetsu, have the squad secured both floors?"

"Yes, Vice-Chief!"

Since the early hours of the morning, police officers had swarmed the scene of an organised crime branch. A small lead that would hopefully lead them to the festering core behind these attacks and illegal loans. This establishment was the foundation of a much bigger crime. A crime Hijikata was eager to dig up since it seemed to him that the White Yaksha had somehow gotten himself involved. Or perhaps it would be suitable to say that the yakuza had poked their noses into this business as well. From the bloody and bruised display strewn across the bar floor the previous night Hijikata crossed off the probability that the yakuza had showed up to offer a friendly greeting. If they ever committed an act or normality like that you'd think the sky was falling.

Reports of roughly the same calibre had been handed to him by various colleagues running around for witness testimonies of the bar scene and its regulars, as well as evidence to assist in putting this loan shark business to rest, including the yakuza's apparent involvement. Unfortunately the papers in his hand might as well have been blank or covered in eraser shavings from hours of removing thousands of stupid mistakes. Not a damn thing of any use - not even in Watanabe's now-former office.

Tetsu Sasaki, probably the district police's most inexperienced officer, and Hijikata's assistant, came running the moment he heard that his Vice-Commander was spearheading the investigation. Nothing like the other dozens of men wearing badges made of rusting steel and uniforms tattered by the concrete below in a criminal-on-cop fight.

Since being shoved into the ranks of Shinsengumi Vice-Commander's assistant he learned a lot from shutting up and watching rather than letting his mouth run off without his brain. God were those frustrating times. He grew and sprouted into the goody little sunflower who made his way by purchasing Hijikata's cigarettes and paying close attention to his teachings. Physical and educational training was still a weekly occurrence for him too.

Hijikata swiped the last cigarette from the pack, lit it up, and grumbled knowing he would have to struggle and endure the cold, hard pressure in his chest until he so happened to wander past a vending machine. Tetsu dwelled around Hijikata with a tenacious passion to help out to the best of his very limited abilities. It was bothersome at first but Hijikata took to appreciate his kindness instead. The guy was still young and inexperienced, so he gave off this air of innocence that made the Vice-Chief a tad uncomfortable. Who knows, maybe it was the eyes or the lashes or the lack any self-awareness to see he befitted the appearance of a Shoujo manga comic relief character.

"Uhm, Vice-Chief, is there anything else I can assist with? Anything at all?"

"Err, yeah, um...You know what? Go buy me another back of cigarettes - and remember! No menthols, got it?"

"Ah! Y-yes, Vice-Chief! Right away, Vice-Chief!"

Tetsu flopped down into a bow. Eagerness was his most notable quality whereas least foolish men would see such a task as trivial and demeaning, if not laughable. Tetsu may no have realised. Probably didn't see it that way. The Vice-Chief figured he would someday once he grew up into his own man. Convenience was his current role, and he embraced that to the fullest without spitting a single protest at his Vice-Commander.

He ran off down the street as fast as his chubby legs could carry him as soon as Harada walked out from the scene of the crime, scratching his bald head in clear bafflement. In comparison to a newbie like Tetsu Sasaki, Harada was one out of many of the independent men who'd probably laugh at Hijikata for ordering them to pick up his cigarettes. Competent and devoted, but not _that_ devoted.

"Oi, Harada, you find anything?" Hijikata took a drag of his cigarette, leaning his backside on the hood of the patrol car.

"Nothin'! Nothin' useful anyway. Mostly junk. There's nothing about the guy's boss or business deals or anything'!"

"Must be kept in their hideout...". Hijikata muttered under his breath. "Alright fellas! Clear out! There's nothing here. I'm gonna keep investigating. Something should turn up somewhere in these files or testimonies eventually".

Honestly Hijikata doubted every last breath of that statement. Unless they discovered the whereabouts of the loan shark boss there would be no evidence, no arrests - except for Watanabe's, but his lips were sealed tighter than his underlings. And those bozos didn't have a clue. When Okita walked into the interrogation room Watanabe began to sweat but the words wouldn't spill out. Okita wasn't allowed to lay a finger so that rendered his attempts fruitless. If this were the yakuza laws don't mean much during interrogations. Those guys go all out and don't halt until the victim's jaws are so broken that they have to hastily scribble down a confession.

"Oii, Hijikata-san, how goes the investigation?"

Coming up from the rear of the patrol car, Okita snapped open a can of tea bought from a vending machine located far away from the scene. The park situated near this district, where it's populated. The kid wandered a long way to get away from work. Taking yet another unpermitted break during an investigation. How far can you stoop so low as a police officer...

"Just fine. I don't need your commentary".

"Shame about Danna, huh? If you hadn't let him get away, we coulda-".

"Hey, shut your damn mouth, will ya?" Hijikata held back from hissing at Okita for smacking his gums at the worst time.

"What, Hijikata-san? As an officer of the law, I should be honest - especially when reporting suspicious activity, right? Like how you let a yakuza-".

"I said shut it! You're doing that on purpose and it's pissing me off. Behave yourself".

Okita sipped his tea can. Beneath that lay a maleficent sneer. The sadism overcast in his eyes was very telling to say he took mental satisfaction in making Hijikata look like an utter fool. If mentioning Gintoki's involvement at a crucial time like this didn't do it, what on earth would cause the Vice-Commander to expose a terrifying expression of pure, full-blown rage? Like the one he was showing off right now, to Okita's delight.

"You let me worry about the natural perm-head. You just focus on doing your job".

"Are you doing yours?"

"Of course I am! I'm gonna ask around and see if I can find that Yaksha bastard. Knowing how close he is to this town, I doubt he would have gone far. Especially after his accident".

"You do that, Vice-Commander-san".

Hijikata walked off on his own accord to find something or someone that would save this paper-thin investigation. Gintoki was his best bet for now. If he could find him and squeeze whatever information he could out of them there would still be a chance to make more than a few convictions. Gintoki's appearance the previous night was unexpected. Quite the show if Okita stuck around to watch until the end. According to Hijikata, the guy threw himself out the window at lighting speed to escape an arrest. What got Okita in a good mood was knowing that Hijikata's frustration had surpassed the norm from day-to-day obstacles. He was absolutely livid this time.

Who knew what Gintoki was up to. But after the events of last night, Okita grinned knowing that Hijikata would crawl to the ends of the earth to find out if it meant dragging Gintoki one step closer to the gallows for his so-called "just punishment" as the biggest annoyance in the Vice-Chief's life. What a pitiful annoyance it must have been.

...

Slipping back into the belly of the beast induced the nastiest feeling of of deja vu like the bitter taste of coffee and the next one after that even after adding milk and sugar. A weak example, but slipping back into the same crime scene twice wasn't meant to be a part of the job - but he was still giving it a second chance. Out of all his mischievous experiences, sneaking into the teacher's office to dig out confiscated trading cards and toy cars was the most comparable. What he often recalled was getting caught while rifling through his homeroom teacher's drawers. Middle school was a depressing three years so after that he swore to let the past go as soon as it went.

He crept inside from down below on his hands and knees. Underneath the push-up door of the bar to find this opening in the floors that Fumiko so subtly guided him towards. Wary, he listened for moaning in the wood or stomping footsteps re-entering the room. The sound didn't reach him immediately. In fact, he held his breath while patting down the floorboards for a response. Far beneath the counter of the bar in the shadows, Gintoki's palm pressed into the wood to find more resistance in the push. What he found was a couple of loose planks.

A man's fingers are big. And they don't exactly keep their nails sharp. Gintoki's biggest challenge thus far was prying the floor open with his thick, manly fingers. Though he was tempted to curse and smash his elbow in through the wood, he bit his tongue and persisted until one of the looser boards finally raised itself up. Gintoki was drawing blood but it barely mattered anymore. What he first found there inside the cubby hole was a pile of cash - couldn't have been any more than three-hundred-thousand yen - as well as a carefully folded note on top. Greed drew Gintoki in for the cash yet with blood-stained, stinging fingers he hesitated to snatch any of it.

Reality fell on top of him like a bag of stones when he knew he couldn't horde all of this money in his skinny leather wallet or even the backside of his tight-fitting pants. He left it in the end. If he knew there would be this much hidden away he would have brought a handy satchel. Saddened, if only temporarily, Gintoki took hold of the note instead and shut the boards, stuffing the scrap into his pants pocket for safe-keeping. If he were to get caught filling his pockets he'd never be able to forgive himself - much less Takasugi or Bansai brushing off his blunder.

The space leading to the upstairs hallway was just as dark, if not more ominous than the first journey last night. Gintoki soon realised how conscious he was of whatever presence lurked on the top floor. Still he pressed on, finally standing to his feet once hidden behind the safety of the stairwell's walls. A part of him expected to encounter a cop or two who refused to give up the search even when all those cardboard boxes had been dragged out onto the street, filled with every file and book in the office upstairs. Gave him some reassurance knowing that there couldn't have been a lot of materials for the police to work with, having never discovered the safe.

That was likely too.

Pressing on was the only choice he had. Anything below that was cowardice and failure. Light lay beyond the tunnel somewhere. All Gintoki had left to do was to make one final push to find it.

...

Empty. The room was empty. A clear sign relieving Gintoki of his anxiety a bit, leaving him alone with the note stuffed away among fabric and fluff. It roughly read - in handwriting that skewered past all the neatly printed lines, worse than Gintoki's writing habits:

_Eiji, pal,_

_I've known you long enough to entrust you with my life's savings and business. That is, if anything were to happen to me. All that cash stashed away under the bar is yours as an incentive for all your hard work - I owed you that much and maybe more. Just in case anything does happen to me, and that involved dying a dog's death at the hand's of the boss or the fuzz, there's a safe in my office I want you to open. There's some more cash inside - but also my address book. In there's some vital info on the boss. Use the address to find him - but don't go see him yourself. Keep yourself safe and just, you know, send him a postcard telling him I'm dead._

_Don't sign it either - don't be a moron. You're not sending one to your grandma while on vacation, you hear?_

_P.S Safe's behind the bookshelf. Just move the damn thing and you're there._

_P.P.S Shit, I almost forgot. Damn pencil doesn't come with an eraser. Code's One-Nine-Five-Three - My B-day!_

_Good luck, pal._

Gintoki could look past the messy handwriting and the bizarrely worded message itself when the vital information stood out to him like a sore thumb: Location of the safe and a code to match. Even criminal bosses held some sentiment in their hearts. Or most of them lack creativity for a code.

"Sorry, Eiji boy". Gintoki said, crumbling up the note only to toss to the floor. "I'll be tellin' the big boss for ya of Watanabe's disappearance. That should give ya some space".

Gintoki pressed his knuckles hard against each palm to stimulate a crack in the bones - to loosen them up for an even bigger push. The bookshelf sat nonchalantly against the wall, close to Watanabe's desk. A perfect cover for a safe if you want to look as casual as possible, and as long as nobody knows about said safe. In that case, behind the bookcase would be the first place you would look.

All the books had been removed but the safe had to have been untouched. Despite the aching sting in his hands, Gintoki gripped onto the cheap wood and pulled hard enough for his muscles to pull too. Having less weight to deal with helped significantly. And until the safe was visible from behind a wall of wood, Gintoki struggled to handle the cuts continuing to bleed around his covered palms.

He shook his fingers around once the job was done. Didn't help the pain or the bleeding, so what was the point in making it worse? Stepping around the bookshelf, Gintoki gloried at the mere sight of the wall safe, tucked away within concrete bricks and cinder. He shifted around the rusted dial in the centre of the safe's door. The dial itself felt stiff but the code could still be found. A stifled click emitted from within, and the door swung open without worry of resistance or hinges that would stick. Never before had Gintoki felt such intense joy - that's saying something for a man who lost his virginity at fifteen and never looked back.

Inside, as hoped, as expected, was yet another pile of yen notes all in neat stacks and piles. Hidden in the far reaches of the boxed safe was the address book, it's cover a crude black leather. There were also some files and booklets that may also come in handy, so Gintoki snagged those as well. The money, again, too much to carry. With a heavy-burdened sigh, Gintoki left the money where it was and decided to bring a bag the next time he decided to break into the bar. Hopefully in the near future before this office was granted a new tenant.

Quickly he flipped through the pages of the address book for curiosity's sake. What he found was various addresses to some very shady places that even Gintoki would admit visiting once or twice as a man with similar tastes. Telephone clubs, adult video booths, and one or two strip joints with only the classiest girls in Tokyo flaunting whatever God gave them. Did he feel shame for knowing these addresses off by heart? Somewhere there lay a tint of innocence and the rest glowed with a perverse pride. Still, he kept a blank expression and persisted in finding details about this boss.

He ended up stuffing the address book down the back of his pants. No bag means no preparation. The discomfort had to be worth all the trouble. If he couldn't borrow all the money piled up here his commission had to be worth more. Enough to squander hours in the neighbouring pachinko parlour.

To his pleasant surprise, Gintoki was able to walk downstairs without a stir in the air warning him to wait or run. An empty bar. Completely empty, aside from furniture, booze bottles, etcetera. Front door was closed and, when peeking out, the back exit was unguarded. He walked out. Steadily, he walked. A calm breeze blew through his hair. Any noise beyond that was non-existent.

He wandered on through the narrow, brightly lit alleyway. Questioning every new step he took was caution on alert. Slowly as the tide of anxiety passed in and out of his head and heartbeat, Gintoki grew mildly relaxed. Out in the open at last but unnoticed by the murder of blue crows pecking around outside the crime scene. He shrugged, lost in his own imagination for a while as he contemplated the salary coming his way and the thousands of spending possibilities right at his fingertips. Once the heat died down he could go back and fetch the money. Bring a big bag and spend to his heart's content. Mentioning to Takasugi would be a royal nuisance. No doubt if he kept that kind of money to himself he would be in deep, deep-

" _Where the hell do you think you're going, you bastard?_ "

Gintoki could recall the grip pressing, pressing down hard on his shoulder like talons digging into a predator's fresh feast. A great red flag of danger swaying rapidly around in his head as the rest of his thoughts rattled around uncontrollably. From the farthest reaches of his mind he knew what he heard, and it pained him more than it scared him.

Struggling to turn around Gintoki forced himself to stand still in this awkward position where, once again, he was knocking around between a rock and a hard place with both the law and his work aesthetic acting as both. Casting aside his ability to run on cue, Gintoki was soon drawn to the monster standing behind him. A steady gander over his shoulder, and his eyes locked onto the black void in Toushirou Hijikata's pupils, bloodshot and petrifying.

"Um...On my afternoon stroll?" Gintoki's voice came out croaky. Sarcastic too, somehow. Somewhere in his brain he thought spewing out a line to mark his sense of humour now was a good idea. Whether he managed to provoke Hijikata or not every time they met, the end result would always be the same as long as he didn't kick his legs into high gear.

From around his wrists there emitted a thick clicking noise. A snap that sent Gintoki's heart into a momentary frenzy. The muscle skipped a beat, then stopped entirely for almost five seconds. His eyes shot down, and the pain latching onto his skin and bone shot back.

"You're under arrest for resisting a previous arrest, ultimately due to obstruction of justice and actively failing to comply with an officer of the law. If I'm reading the situation clearly, you're obstructing justice right now, aren't you, you natural-permed asshole?"

"Eh? Eh?! Y-you've gotta be shitting me...Wait, Hijikata-ku-ack!"

Delighted by the opportunity, Hijikata dragged Gintoki off while he struggled to explain himself in coherent words. The thick metal shackling Gintoki's wrists had no breakable chain or flimsy lock. Both hands were kept together, like the handcuffs had been melded around both wrists; stiff, burning into the bone. You couldn't break these things no matter how hard you struggled. He was so close and yet so far away from freedom and a bountiful reward.

Getting himself arrest was merely the tip of the iceberg. What he feared most would send the guillotine crashing down was the address book currently hanging from the hem of his boxer shorts.

"Wait a minute! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Ah - ow!" Gintoki was in a frenzy. Hijikata wasn't paying too much attention. Seeing the cocky attitude turn a-hundred-and-eighty degrees south just made his day.

The impact of falling face-first into the hood of a patrol car was heavy and blunt on Gintoki's chest and stomach. A sucker-punch to the gut. Cops stared in astonishment. They got a clear explanation as soon as Hijikata slammed Gintoki's body down. They understood, they complied and thought it'd be right to call in to the Chief.

"Let's see what we have here...".

Deja vu - there it was. The stomach-churning moment in which he was caught carrying all those rare trading cards belonging to almost every other student in school. A quick slap on the wrist wasn't enough this time. Detention was the farthest punishment from his mind although the memory decided to stick around and watch - Because this is where he ended up. After thieving one too many times, this was the end result. How fittingly brutal.

"Got anything Vice-Chief?"

Having another man pat you down is...uncomfortable. Gintoki was uneasy having his pockets slapped and his privacy taken away from him as soon as Hijikata dug out his wallet. The exposure was intense. Leaving him self-conscious and pissed.

"...".

But nothing really happened. Tied down, unable to move, and yet Gintoki soon realised freedom was still in his reach. If only by a minor stretch. The discomfort around his backside ceased to exist. He knew it was empty. Hijikata's silence - the smug look on his face - it was gone. It-...

It was gone.

The damn thing had up and vanished from the depths of his boxer shorts. At some point the pages stopped digging into the tender skin of his back. It fell - it had to have fallen out somewhere in the bar. The ground floors, the stairs, outside maybe. All he could clue in was that it was neither with him nor the cops.

"Oh, lookie here, Danna's finally gotten himself into trouble. How sad~". Okita turned up out of the blue, folding his arms across the opposite end of the car.

He tilted his head, sneering directly at Gintoki with as much empathy as an amateur grim reaper.

"Sougo, shut it. We need to get this good-for-nothing back to the station for questioning. After last night's encounter it seems pretty clear to me he's wrapped up in all of this. Men, do one last sweep. We can't be too careful when the yakuza's involved".

"Yes, Vice-Chief!"

The Vice-Commander watched three men storm back inside the bar for this final sweep around. Gintoki, on the other hand, could see nothing past the shining surface of the patrol car's hood and the toothed grin upon Okita's baby face. From the moment he heard the thunder of footsteps against hardwood floors as he himself was dragged into the back seat of the vehicle, Gintoki knew his job had come to an abrupt, untimely end. And he knew that once Takasugi caught wind of his arrest there was no escaping that man's tyranny.

A dead man walking. Unless his luck was still running, even if it was, quote on quote, "low on juice". The fact that he was still very much alive to this day said something about his tenacity to survive, to get himself out of trouble in any grim situation. This was no exception.

...

The pre-recorded, bleak sounds of the speaker's audio made itself known exactly two minutes before one o'clock, the earliest hours of the afternoon. Coffee and cigarettes, the most distinct stench in the underground, continued to permeate from tiny cafés with unheard of store brand names and travel snacks you don't see anywhere else. Sakamoto had purchased a handful of animal crackers - stuffed into the smallest packaging, fit for children who would likely be bored and hungry sitting around in the same seat for several hours.

Although he wasn't the one taking a twenty-minute trip through Tokyo.

"Looks like the train's a-comin'. You ready, Zura?" He asked, content with his mouth filled to the cheek with cracker crumbs and melted chocolate.

"It's not Zura, it's Katsura". Katsura responded bitterly, flicking his ridiculously long hair out of his face. "And of course I'm ready. I'll be sure to return to Shinjuku as soon as possible. In a few days, I hope. Are _you_ ready?"

"Haha! Damn straight! See, I already called Daichi about coming to meet him and his boys for a drink at the Lucky Star".

"How quaint".

"Haha, yeah. But don't worry. According to the guys, he's still working around Kabukicho. He hasn't moved an inch".

"Good. Make sure they keep an eye on him. We can't have him running off".

"How 'bout Matsumoto-kun?".

"I spoke to him over the phone also. He's awaiting me in one of his office branches, expecting me to work hard. We're quite familiar with each other, but I doubt he's aware of my close friendship with Takasugi".

"That's quite a gamble you're takin' there".

"I believe it's just as risky as sharing a serving of sake with the enemy".

"Well you know me; always up for a challenge and whatnot".

The final call for the upcoming passenger train came through. Both men stood on the edge of the platform, simultaneously looking up above from where the source of the automated tone was coming from. Not long after a train pulled up from around the bend, far into the distance, away from the station through a field of many other tracks leading in different directions for other destinations.

"I'm wishin' ya luck, Zura. Try not to get yourself killed out there".

"It's Katsura, dammit! And, on another note, what do you take me for? I'll be sure to outlive someone as reckless as you, Tatsuma. Any day".

"Hahaha! We'll see, buddy! We'll see".

Waiting racked Katsura's nerves. Maybe it was the journey or the risks that faced him beyond the tracks. Having partaken in many life-threatening jobs Katsura was surprised by this one; by his own anxiety. Whether it was solely because he was by himself, or an array of reasons shifting the tides in his confidence and resolve. A friend was a friend. A man who strays from said friend's path is still a friend. But when that man strays too far, it's a mystery. He believed Takasugi told him so once before. Never before had Katsura felt so compelled to carry on, but at the same time he wondered if this was something he should have expected before allowing his Lieutenants, and his good friend, to scar his torso and name for life.

Was it far to late to ask such a blunt question?

...

"The hell do you mean they didn't find anything? You can't be serious...".

A tiny room, concrete walls and a firm, back-breaking mattress yet Gintoki was as relaxed as could be. The black and white world beyond the cage wasn't any less tense. Red rings dwelled around his wrists and his back ached after the long ride here, but he was fairly content and loose, and very much alone. He lay flat on his sickly green mattress, legs propped up against the wall above him, hands pretending to be his pillow for the day. He'd go as far to say that he was rather well-off. A vacant red shade lay dormant in his eyes; not a care in the world.

Certainly he had hope, of all things. Listening in to the phone call outside he eased himself into a wry smile and awaited the demon's rage to reign down on him, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Couldn't care less anymore. If his thoughts were absent, his words would be too. Not another echo would enter this place, and soon the cell he lay around in would be empty once again.

Gintoki couldn't see anything past his cell door but he was left to imagine...

Hijikata dropped the receiver back into its slot, deciding swiftly to end the call before he ended up running around in another circle. By now his blood boiled up knowing his efforts were nearly for naught. According to his colleague over the line, the men sent back into the crime scene returned nearly empty-handed. What they found was an open safe inside Watanabe's office filled with too many thousand yen notes to count all at once. That was all. It seemed clear to the other men that Gintoki had snuck into the place for cash - but Hijikata simply refused to believe such a flimsy excuse for his presence in the alleyway or his purpose for barging in on the scene the previous night.

To be honest Gintoki was baffled too. For his own reasons, however, he remained calm. Smiling. Totally at peace.

And then the fiery rage of the demon flooded in between the cracks of his cell door like smoke lifting from the furthest depths of hell. A thundering knock banged against its surface, but the man behind it was left still on his skinny mattress in complete silence.

"Oi, Yaksha! Get your ass over here - it's time to ask you a few questions. When I open it, put your hands through the door's slot and keep them still. Don't do anything stupid".

Following orders was a pet-peeve of Gintoki's. Made him wonder repeatedly why he joined the yakuza, that being the case, but under these circumstances he didn't much appreciate the threat of going to court with a harsher sentence plummeting atop his head for failing to comply...again. Sighing, he stood up from his comfy spot and slid his hands through the now-open slot in the door; like a mailbox but a tad wider. Big enough to fit a pair of male hands.

He grimaced and grunted when a fresh pair of cuffs latched themselves around his wrists like a snake bite, only this sensation pained him more the longer he was restrained. The cell door was finally opened with a rusted creak. A great burst of light flooded his vision from the windows on the far end of the station's offices. Unable to shield himself away, Gintoki blinked and blinked while gradually being dragged off into the interrogation room - the demon's playground in other, crude and very real, words.

...

Five minutes in, and nothing indicated that Gintoki would bare fruit in his testimony. He narrated the events almost perfectly, just didn't give reasons as to why they occurred. And Hijikata was losing patience with him. Slowly but surely. In this small, white room, all was very quiet. If anyone and their mother's had watched even one cheesy crime show, they'd know of the one-sided, see-through walls. A window to peer in and record the goings on of the Vice-Commander and his witness.

For whatever reason, there was something ominous in that. One, Gintoki had the idea in his head that, in fact, no one was standing behind the wall to watch. Two, if this interrogation was being recorded, the footage was for the Vice-Chief's eyes only. The Vice-Chief who reeked of blood and hostility when the smoke of his cigarettes had evaporated into the air.

"You can ask me the same questions as many times as you like, but you'll keep getting the same answer. I swear to God, sometimes I wonder if you pigs are doing any work. Looks like I got my answer".

"We can move along with this investigation if you were more honest, Yaksha. I could do this all day until you spill everything - and I mean everything".

Both Hijikata's hands were pressing down onto the surface of the table caught in between them as they spoke. He chose to stand and loom over Gintoki, put him in his shadow. However any intention to intimidate him wore thin quickly since he was dealing with a man who most likely witnessed his fair share of fear-mongering tactics and brutality. A special case of resilience. An annoying one.

"That safe in Watanabe's office - you knew exactly where to look, you had a code to it. The fact that all the money we found was still in the safe shows a lack of preparation on your part. You didn't expect to find money, you were looking for something else".

"Look at you. I'm surprised you didn't take up detective work. Listen, I can pay my bail and be outta your hair. But since ya took my wallet-".

"-Which was empty".

"I need to make a phone call to a buddy of mine".

"Not until we get some answers from you. You're making things harder for yourself by keeping your mouth shut - and I'm not convinced that you just so happened to stumble upon Watanabe's office the other night after pummelling ten men on the bar's ground floor".

"In self-defence! They attacked me - I told ya that already".

"But why did they attack you? That's what I want to know". Hijikata's persistent was solid. Impressive to some extent.

Gintoki was stuck in a corner here. He didn't have many options, and repeating himself over and over would tire his voice sooner or later. No, there were no other choices. The only one he had left was to come clean and hope he could convince this cop to look through a different perspective.

"Look, Hijikata-kun, you know I was there on the scene - and fine, you win, I was there for a purpose. But how do you know I was there to commit some criminal act?"

"Why else would a member of the yakuza storm into the office of some loan shark lap dog?"

"It hasn't occurred to you that maybe my boss is trying to shut 'em down to? Tell ya what, if ya get down on your hands and knees - and beg me - I'll throw you dogs a bone in finding them".

"In hell! Even if you're really telling the truth, I have no real reason to trust you in the first place. You yakuza are all the same to me: scum. Parasites who feed off of other people relentlessly. You may like to step in and call yourselves hero's when the time calls for it, during the aftermath of a tsunami or earthquake, but that doesn't change the fact that you're all blood-sucking leaches".

"And, what, you're the real hero, Mr Demonic Vice-Commander? I'm the only real lead you've got, and yet you're stubborn enough to reject my assistance?"

"Don't try to turn this on me. This is about you, and your organisation potentially interfering with a police investigation - I don't think you would spout this crap unless you were trying to save your own skin. Whatever you picked up in that safe is vital to this case, and to your work, and you decided to run away with it".

"You can't prove that". Gintoki shook his head. He was smirking, downright smug and as apathetic as Hijikata expected him to be for a yakuza.

"I intend to". Hijikata leaned in much closer. Close enough to see the void floating in Gintoki's eyes, lightless and mocking. "If you've discarded any documents from that safe, I will do everything in my power to find it. Then I can finally convict you for the violent, apathetic, sneaky dirtbag that you are".

The gaze of two beasts went unwavering in a momentary scene of tension and pure spite. They stared each other down, the endless feud burning up inside them. Not a shred of desperation lay dormant in either of their eyes, but fury and frustration and hatred. However, deep down, they were still men. Men looking for all the right answers without a path to guide them. All this fuss seemed so petty, but what else was there left to do other than to get angry at the worst possible obstacles during this knuckle-dragging excuse of a job? That being each other.

The growling and the hissing in this silly game of cat and dog had to come to an immediate halt eventually before the whole room was set aflame. Behind them, the interrogation room door swung open in desperation, with haste. They heard it, the both of them, so they were both naturally drawn to the noise. The relentless glaring had been broken at long last.

"Toshi!" Kondo had made his purpose for storming in apparent, waving Hijikata over in a hurry with no time to stop and chat. "Could you come out here for a second? I'll let Sougo take over from here".

Way to go trusting the most extreme sadist on the force. Okita slid into the room unfazed by the work - more so seeing it as an opportunity - hands behind his back, baring the least innocent baby face imaginable in the eyes of Hijikata, and Hijikata alone. Despite taking Okita's personality and interrogation methods into account, Hijikata soon followed Kondo out of the room without putting up a fight. He thought it would be fruitless to argue, seeing as Gintoki was taking him for a ride and he was less than willing to stop.

Kondo shut the door abruptly behind them. He didn't stop there. For the sake of keeping Hijikata's burst fuse under wraps he led him into the other side of the interrogation room. A narrow space behind yet another door, looking out onto the bigger, brighter room where Okita was currently questioning Gintoki, casual and somehow keeping his hostility buried away underneath his skin.

"Toshi, what was going on in there? Looked like you were really losing your cool".

"Sorry. I'm a bit on edge, having avoided smoking a cigarette for the last three hours".

Kondo watched Hijikata tapping his foot to the floor in an uneven rhythm while he intently watched the goings on behind the one-sided window. What he was seeing was far from natural in Hijikata's case, the level-headed man on a mission who was now erratic with rage. Such a sight shook Kondo to his core. He watched through the one sides panes, too. Holding his hands behind his back he kept a close eye on Gintoki's unwavering expression. A familiar aloofness even in the face of a dead end.

"Do you really think he's trouble, Toshi?" He asked, scratching the bridge of his noise awkwardly. "No doubt he's involved, but what is there to say he's somehow at the heart of all this? If not on the side-lines".

"Oh he is on the side-lines. Definitely on the side-lines. The yakuza often are in these small cases, especially if it involves turf or money. I can't say for sure that the White Yakasha's organisation are behind these attacks, but that doesn't mean they aren't trouble, Kondo-san. And that man...He is trouble - I'm sure he didn't stumble on the scene to offer Watanabe a warm greeting".

"We don't have enough evidence yet to say what's what".

"We will. The evidence is out there, somewhere. Whatever was in that open safe has to be it".

"And you suspect that the Yaksha took it?"

"He must have. But whatever he did grab got lost somewhere or he gave it to someone else between the moment he left the bar and the moment I caught him".

"If you're totally sure about this, I'll believe in you, Toshi. But with no leads we'll never know where to start looking".

"...". That was the harsh truth behind Hijikata's persistence. No evidence, no leads - just a load of bullshit leading them around in circles.

If they found more witnesses to this case, such as prior attack victims who borrowed money from the sharks then maybe - maybe - something new would bare its teeth and challenge them to look onward for the correct path. Kondo was reluctant to say anymore, but his heart was set in the right place to try everything and anything by this point. Hijikata, the man who always listened to Kondo and would without a doubt follow him to the ends of the earth, wouldn't like this little titbit though, no matter how he put it into words. 

"Toshi, hear me out for a second. Maybe...Maybe the Yaksha is-".

"Don't". Hijikata shook his head, eyes still affixed to the interrogation room. He was stern, directing his stubbornness at his boss now without giving it a second though. "Don't say he's our only help. There has to be something else. I refuse to be given advice from him - of all people. You know better than to trust the yakuza, Kondo-san, surely".

"I know it's a long shot, but we don't have anything else to go on. Who knows. He might surprise you".

"What, when one day I'm walking down the street on patrol and the Yaksha is holding a gun to my back? No thanks".

Distrust was an understandable factor that often made loops around Hijikata's principles. Kondo questioned his own lenience for a while, but he didn't take back what he said. They had been led to plenty of dead ends, and the one opening they had turned out to be sprouting thorns from its walls. The Chief was coming across his own troubles in this case. Scratching his head and all. He couldn't think straight either. A part of him hated to do this but Hijikata wasn't going to get anywhere by pacing around the same, empty solutions in stress.

Again he was taking a long-shot. But he thought it would be worth a try to take Hijikata's mind off of work, if only for a brief hour or so. 

"You know it...could take a while before we find any new leads. Maybe a night or so".

"...".

"Plus the whole case is stressing us both out". It seemed unideal, but Kondo thought it would be the right thing to do to take a pause and smile. "How about we finally take that much-needed break tonight? After all, I have a two hours off my shift. Old man Matsudaira is taking over down here, so...".

Kondo hesitated expectantly for Hijikata to make up his mind on the spot. Unfortunately Hijikata remained unmoved on the matter.

"Kondo-san, I appreciate the offer, but I'm in no mood to relax".

"What are you talking about? You're in the perfect mood to relax! You're pent-up, stressed. All you need is a drink. Something to put your mind at ease for a bit. Come on~! It'll be fun, I'll even pay. And I'll keep bugging you until you say yes - that's how serious I am".

Kondo went so far to persuade Hijikata to tag along by offering to foot the bill. No matter what he put on the table now wasn't the best time. Work was important. There were a million other things keeping Hijikata's mind occupied other than getting wasted. The decision to take time off work for fun wasn't supposed to be a difficult one. Hijikata would say no and get on with his job, brushing off the chance to drink his worries away as per usual, like any other mundane weekday. However, today, for a reason he struggled to comprehend, he was hesitating on the brink of saying yet another cold-hearted no. 

"Kondo-san, I really do need to focus on the case. If I do absolutely nothing then...".

"Then the loan sharks will have to wait for us. One evening of drinking won't kill you, Toshi. Besides, it'll just be two hours for me. I won't be drinking much so I can take a walk to work, sober up and get back to the investigation in no time. I'll work my butt off to get results, I promise you".

Hijikata would applaud his persistence in any other instance, but this was simply...embarrassing. Not that he was embarrassed for Kondo, but more unsettled over his own need to make a decision here. He should have insisted that he go home at the end of his shift and rifle through notes and testimonies instead. To tell Kondo that he was intending to work away non-stop until something significant was pieced together before the break of dawn. He should have.

But, today, unfortunately, he would have to take a calming breath, and disappoint his workaholic self. Just this once. 

...

Probably the most eye-catching details in a cabaret club are the drink menus and the varied appearances of the girls. A first glance is always the most important the moment you enter a social establishment. Club Hiromi wasn't a huge club, unlike the grand cabaret's popping up miles apart to attract the richest crowds in proximity. The name rang a few sentimental bells. When thinking about it that way the place feels more homely. This place was hidden away in a street that everyone in Shinjuku would have walked through at least once, even if they didn't realise where they were wandering.

Sakamoto was offered a warm welcome next to a warm-hearted lady in a mini-skirt with a chilled glass of champagne awaiting him at a specially reserved table. The skinniest glass he'd ever grasped between his thick fingers. Daichi Yoshida had welcomed him with open arms that night with a grin shown from cheek to cheek.

Daichi was a man who kept his beard trimmed and scruffy, but he never shaved the whole thing off. Thought it'd look unnatural. Tonight he dressed sharply, but his suit couldn't have been more than sixty-thousand judging by the brand tag sticking out from behind his collar or the creased state he left his undershirt in. Untucked and unkempt. Not expensive enough to keep neat and tidy for the sake of first impressions, huh.

Two handsome young ladies joined them while the champagne was poured, both giggling and greeting Sakamoto as they would with any other old customer with cash in his wallet and enough complaints to shake a priest at a confessional. Difference is these ladies were getting paid a pretty dime.

"Hey there, ladies. Man, Daichi-kun, you've found yourself some real beauties".

"Yeah, well, ya know me. Gotta good eye for angels. Come, ladies. Sit, chat, drink as much as ya like. I'll take care of the bill tonight, seein' as Tatsuma here's a special guest".

The girls bowed respectfully, unable to shake off the caked smiles they had gotten so used to practicing. They made themselves as comfortable as possible around the table's booth, one on either side of Sakamoto with the least amount of personal space left. Neither of them appeared anxious nor too cocky. They were sweethearts in their own right and had pretty smiles that simply made Sakamoto's cheeks glow with joy. So personal space didn't matter.

"So, Sakamoto-kun, I hear you run a cabaret in Osaka". One of the girls said with excitement that was rehearsed time and time again.

She adjusted the hem of her skirt, patting it down as she leaned in closer to Sakamoto. An awkward thing to do...Perhaps she was only just getting used to having a pair of eyes ogle anywhere but her face. No wonder.

"What's Osaka like? My sister works there as some big-wig's secretary but she never talks about it". The other spoke too, cheery. Her hand hesitated to touch Sakamoto around the arm or knee. Physical contact is a strict rule but it was thought that it only applied to sexually harassing the women. Was he that unattractive? That untouchable? 

Not that he took notice or even cared that much to put up a fuss. 

"It's a grand ol' city, I'd say!" Sakamoto exclaimed, taking the first, most important, swig of his drink. "Not as big or bright as Tokyo, but I've visited some neat onsens and bars. See, there's this little ramen place I went to every Thursday night after work. The old man there gets a lot of business - you'd be surprised just how many people love it".

"Sounds cool. Meet any cute girls?"

"Ah, sadly only the cuties I hired - girls with work ethic, so I can't hook up with any of 'em. Most of the time I'm stuck in the office with my assistant, Mutsu, anyway. And she's not cute at all! She's pretty scary, 'specially when she's mad".

The women laughed to that end. They found Mutsu's tyranny more amusing than Sakamoto did, and that was saying plenty from a guy with the pipes of a wind band and the mind of a child. Daichi found his place to chuckle along. He was sitting opposite the booth's sofa, occupying one of the individual chairs - a cushy violet block with a flat surface and no back. A good mood followed him from the moment he greeted Sakamoto at the entrance. Here, surrounded by many other, regular and brand new, customers, perhaps it was easier for him to convey an owner's welcoming persona.

"So, Tatsuma". Daichi placed down his half-empty glass after the third sip. Still smiling. "What made ya come all the way back to Tokyo from Osaka, huh? I thought you were comin' back sometime in January".

"I was. But, see, I got this special deal on a club that burned down a while back. Building's still standin', just needs repairs here and there. Thought I could bring my business back to this place before anyone else snatched the deal. Got it at a good price, I'd say".

"Really? So, what, ya just came back to check the building out?"

"Sure. It's a bit of a dump, but it's fixable. I don't call something garbage and throw it out if there's still a chance to give it a polish and make it shine again. It's not my style".

"Yeah, that sounds about right. Hm, ya haven't changed much since I last saw ya. Did ya...speak to the boss while you've been back?"

Sakamoto shrugged idly, grinning idly, like he couldn't give two hoots about Takasugi and his business and whatnot.

"Eh, not yet. Takasugi-shi's probably too busy to see me - you know what he's like. Always runnin' around, doin' his own thing. Ya can never keep up with him, no sir!"

"...It's baffling, ain't it?" Daichi soon took on a more serious tone, clasping his hands between his knees, leaning in close. Just to watch Sakamoto's unfazed demeanour in all it's stupidly cheerful glory.

"Hm? What's that, Daichi-kun?"

"Oh, nothin'. Just sayin'...It's a wonder he's got so many loyal followers - that man. Have you truly met the boss? Bit of a psycho, if ya ask me. Not that any of us yakuza thugs are perfect...".

"Now, now, Daichi-kun. You can't speak ill of Takasugi-shi. Yeah, he's got rough edges and he's got a short temper, but he works hard. I have the utmost respect for a hard-working man like him".

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. But have ya ever questioned his leadership? He uses fear to get his way, but what's the bet that he isn't as scary as everyone thinks he is? I mean...Haha, call me crazy or correct, but...He is just a man after all. Right, Tatsuma?"

"Well...". Sakamoto stared up at the ceiling, thinking beyond the reaches of the sky. He was vacant. Smiling but distant. This time he didn't just shrug and brush off the whole world as it went by. "Yes, and no, I guess ya could say".

"...?"

"Y'see, that man built his empire with bedrock from the ground up. Without his father there to guide him, he worked his ass off every day. It was tough, and taxing - but he pulled himself through until his fingers were tattered and blistered".

"That's an interestin' way to put it".

"The thing is, Daichi-kun, you fail to realise that it'd take a-hundred - no - maybe a thousand men to push and shove that empire before it would ever fall. Even then there's these pillars made up of limestone, marple, concrete and even the tiniest pebbles surrounding it like a fortress in order to keep everything standing - to keep that guy on his throne".

"...?"

"Takasugi himself once said: the king of the board needs every single piece at his disposal - they're there to fight for him and keep the opposing side down. As long as the king remains one step ahead, standing tall, breathing, the rest of his empire will stand with him until the very end".

"...".

The air - even the artificial breeze breathing through the club's air vents - grew cold. Daichi's eyes looked dead serious. There was no way he could see past Sakamoto's pitch-black shades. But he knew that, despite the grin and the glow in his cheeks and the upbeat rhythm of his voice, Sakamoto had taken an equally serious turn at some point during the discussion. From metaphors and proverbs to...

"Do you see what I mean, Daichi? I'm sure you understand what I'm sayin'. Even you can't be that naïve".

To a cold-hearted threat against the opposition on the board.

"What is it ya want, Tatsuma?"

"Hm. To talk. Peacefully. If ya don't mind".

"Oh I think we're done talkin'. But while we're still sittin' here like fools, I gotta ask for future reference: How'd ya find out?"

"Orihara-san in accounting".

"Tch...You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me". Daichi was in disbelief. Yet he smirked and licked his lips. Perhaps he was even anxious; trapped in a corner. "I thought we paid off accounting to get rid of our account details".

"That sure as hell worked out, didn't it? Sorry, man! But I think you underestimated our staff. They've been around for a lot longer than you or Matsumoto-san. They know what Takasugi-shi's like - they've seen that underneath his pretty face and short stature there's a beast".

"That's a load of shit. Yeah, from what I've heard, his Daddy was the big, bad boss. A real monster. But Shinsuke Takasugi? Nah. After spoiling him rotten he's like any other rich brat".

"Says who?"

"...".

"Listen, Daichi, I can understand if you're tryin' to make all of this easier on yourself. But the way I see it you're just scared. I'm not surprised. Takasugi-shi can be a real tyrant if ya get on his bad side".

"Shaddup! You say that shit as if I'm comin' with ya!"

"What other choice do ya have? Run? Fight back?"

"I think I'll take my chances. Boys!"

Daichi cried out from the top of his lungs in a burst of pure desperation. It certainly wasn't bravery motivating him, after all the pacing of each breath trembled. Although it did manage to reach the ears of at least a dozen men covering every corner of the club. Not all. Some of the old men still sitting in their seats, alongside the now terrified cabaret girls, panicked without the will to even move. Screams of bloody murder bounced around the walls when these now standing thugs ripped out their firearms from hidden holsters behind a jacket or the belt around their pants. 

All barrels pointed to the supposed, still grinning, elephant in the room while his arms remained crossed over and his mind totally at peace. Daichi struggled around his seat in an attempt to back off, in order to keep a safe distance from Sakamoto at all times. He kept his eyes glued to Sakamoto. And it was as clear as day that, for a moment, Daichi thought of himself as a winner. 

"Listen, Tatsuma, you're a nice guy. I don't wanna kill you - 'specially not in my club. So I might just let ya go if ya keep your mouth shut, alrighty?"

"Is that what you told the guys in accounting? And look how that turned out! Aha...Ahahaha!"

"The hell are ya laughin' about now ya moron?!"

"Oh God, nothin'! Nothin' at all! I'm just havin' a blast here tonight! Though, I'm gonna have to put in a complaint. 'Cause, one, I'm not a big fan of guns - granted I use 'em myself when needs be...".

Sakamoto raised his hands up suddenly, trying to play it off as a casual gesture - not a surrender. The very moment in which he threw his hands into the hair, as soon as his fingers were ready to reach the sky, yet another crowd of men stood up from their seats behind him, all with foreign faces, to Daichi that is. The man was simply astonished by such a predictable conflict. Every standing man pointed a gun, this time towards Daichi's men. The bafflement printed on their faces was comedy gold - simply marvellous. Enough to earn a standing ovation from Sakamoto.

"And, two...". Sakamoto continued rambling when pulling out his own nine-millimetre from the holster hidden in his jacket. "I can't stand it when girls in a cabaret are sad or scared. That really ruffles my feathers. Ya get me, Daichi-kun?"

"...". Caught between the fray of Sakamoto's gun and the exit, Daichi decided to pull out his own weapon. To him it wasn't a part of the original plan but plans tend to change, especially after a plot twist. 

"Now, host! How about we get the party started?"

An utterly riveting plot twist... 

...

On the other side of town, an establishment lay somewhere packed into Golden Gai; a small district dedicated to equally miniature bars and restaurants that could fit into the palm of the owner's hand. Resting in one of them, among a six-man-sized bar, quite the tight squeeze at that, sat Hijikata and Kondo who were caught still dragging their feet in their uniforms. The weight of it on Hijikata's shoulders, even stiffing his back, made sure that work never truly left his mind. Even when he drank. 

"Another one, old man". He muttered, tense when knowing the hiccups were well on their way.

"Have you relaxed at all, Toshi?" Kondo was his happy-go-lucky self. Two drinks wasn't enough to get this guy slurring his words. After enough New Year's parties, half of the Shinsengumi police department could testify to that. 

"Not really. Sorry, I know I'm not great company. Especially not tonight and especially when I'm drunk".

"What're you talking about? We've been drinking buddies since that ramen place back home opened its doors. Remember?"

"I do. And I'm still a bore".

"Ahaha! Don't put yourself down, Toshi!" Kondo slapped his back enthusiastically. A ripple of force smacked his rigid spine. Nearly choked on his drink. "I know work stresses you out sometimes, but I don't think you've ever been this pessimistic about a case".

"It's not necessarily because of work, I'm afraid. It's that damn Yaksha stinking up one of our holding cells. He pisses me off - and I'm pissed off more by the fact that I have no choice but to admit it".

Saying so caused Hijikata's skin to crawl. A fierce sensation he could only experience with such intense frustration and anxiety. All aimed at the White Yaksha for reasons he had long-since stored in the back of his mind - to save himself the embarrassment of going on an out-loud tangent. 

"That's true...About the Yaksha, I mean. Do you really not think of him as an asset to the case? If he really does have information for us...".

"Oh don't you start this again, Kondo-san". Hijikata dropped his sake cup clumsily back down onto the bar. Cold droplets sputtered around the surface of the wood as a result. He held his breath; held the hiccups in until they passed.

"Come on, Toshi. Putting aside the fact that this guy is, without a doubt, a criminal working with an organised syndicate, do you think he could be striving for the same goal as us?"

"How do you know he's not lying out of his ass? The yakuza are a ruthless bunch, and they wouldn't hesitate to make that clear - that includes lying through their teeth to get their way".

"In saying that you seem to know him better than any of us on the force. After all, you've had your fair share of run-ins with the Yaksha in particular. He may be a nuisance, but has he ever done anything to harm you?"

"No, not me personally - but what he does has harmed many other people. Don't tell me you're defending him".

"Nothing like that, no. It's just I've had a run-in with him too in the past and, honestly, it granted me a whole new perspective. Not necessarily towards the yakuza, but...to that man".

"You mean that incident with the Otae woman you're stalking?"

Such a bizarre event played out vaguely from what Hijikata heard every now and then at the station. Gossip bouncing from colleague to colleague in a childish game of telephone. All pointing to a huge disaster that scathed the Shinsengumi name for a couple weeks. Still didn't effect Kondo's image in his co-workers eyes - he was still a respected member of their community. 

"I'm not stalking! It isn't stalking - I'm watching over her!"

Mostly. It mostly didn't scrape his name across the dirt and grime.

"That's stalking". Hijikata said flatly, sipping his drink, losing interest of the same arguments he's partaken in at least one, or twice - he couldn't quite remember anymore. 

"Anyway! He came to her defence because he _thought_ I was stalking her. He fought with me in the name of love, but in the end he...Well, as far as I could see, he held back. He refused to hurt me".

"Are you serious?"

"Back then, I saw it. I saw him lower his sword. I could see this rough look of innocence carved into his eyes. Not a hero, just a man...Funny and so bizarre. Before I knew it he was scratching his head and walking off into the distance with that wooden sword of his, telling me to seek help for my stalking habits".

"So in the end you were stalking her...".

"My point is that...". 

Kondo stared off into the distance during a pause, lost in his own train of thought yet still speaking clearly. Somewhere in his heart he found the will to smile when Gintoki vividly came to life in his mind's eye. Indeed the effects of the Yaksha, of that wild man, were bizarre. Like a hypnosis act. 

"The yakuza and the police have had an odd relationship for as long as they've been around". 

"Tch, you can say that again". 

That was an undeniable fact. Their crime network was troublesome for citizens, and therefore the police, but they weren't too far from human after natural disasters occurred in the country. Only then were they charitable and noble. 

"And, yes, behind the scenes, he's a member of a criminal syndicate that we can't convict him for without evidence - that's just how the court system works. But in this instance, while he have him hanging from a thread, we have to give him the benefit of the doubt to some extent. If you can definitely point out that he's committing criminal acts involved in this case, then he's worth convicting and sending to prison. If not...".

"What, we let him go?"

"You at least give him a chance to explain himself. From my experience, not just as a police officer, there's always more to the man than a monster. I would know that better than anyone, Toshi. I thought you would take that into consideration after we met". 

Hijikata was left baffled by the mentioning of old memories. Even one or two scarred wounds getting pricked again by the same needle. This one being particularly sharp. He hated to think that he was anything like Gintoki. He refused to think that way, for a time. Then he slowly let the thought pass while he was tipsy and lost in thought. 

"...Heh, using that card against me now?" Hijikata smirked, sipping the last droplets from his cup. 

"Try talking to him again. Maybe he could prove useful to us. I'm sure you'll get to arrest him someday when the evidence is in your back pocket, but I learned that even the worst situations or the worst of people need to be understood first before you make your final judgement".

Naivety was a terrible handicap for any police officer striving to arrest criminals and psychopaths, many of which with silver tongues and witty alibis that might as well have been written for them on a script. But Kondo wasn't naïve. Not in the slightest. His downfall was this ridiculously broad level of kindness. Both qualities were very similar, indeed they were. The real difference was that Kondo was consciously being gentle in nature even to people he knew were bad apples, rotten to the core. 

He made do with a smile, and he never once had to eat his words when coming face to face with a real troublemaker. Hijikata often considered himself Kondo's rock because of it. The hardened side of the law that let Chief Kondo lean on him. 

"See, Kondo-san, it's stuff like this which makes me question your decision to become a cop. You have this pain-in-the-ass habit of only seeing the good in people. Maybe you should try counselling instead".

It was simply his way. 

From his breast pocket, Hijikata grabbed his cigarettes. He sighed heavily, feeling dazed and out of his mind. 

"I'll think about it. But I can't promise anything - Not about requesting help from a criminal. And it doesn't mean he can get off unscathed. He did commit a crime, and he needs to pay for it. But me saying that doesn't mean I'll ask for his assistance. After all, that guy still gets under my skin and-...What?" 

While digging his fingers through his pockets for a lighter Hijikata noticed Kondo hadn't stopped staring at him the moment he began rambling mindlessly like an idiot. A wide, content grin lay naturally on his face. Shaking his head to himself, Kondo threw his arm around Hijikata's shoulders in a fit of happiness. Why happiness? Hijikata couldn't for the life of him figure it out. He was shaken around as a rough gesture of friendship though it confused Hijikata - really confused him. 

"Another round over here, Pops!" Kondo cackled loud and clear. Still puzzling Hijikata due to his sudden mood change. The booze must have hit him harder than Hijikata first thought. 

If this was about Hijikata opening his mind to someone like Gintoki he was taking one too many steps ahead. Hijikata hadn't even done anything - not even a single word was uttered to tell Kondo that he was going to allow a yakuza to roam free as a tool in the investigation. Over the Vice-Chief's dead body, Hijikata thought to himself. 

Still he felt his knees go weak under the assumption that he had, in fact, decided to let Kondo's words rub off on him like a bad habit. Like he just happened to have agreed that Gintoki could be helpful when stuck at a dead end in this case - just like that. No question. Despite the stream of alcohol running around his bloodstream, Hijikata thought his mind had been made up from the start. And then he thought it over one last time and...And he thought about how much he trusted Kondo. If Kondo had made up his mind, Hijikata put enough trust in him to follow and support him. 

Realising that much led Hijikata to the idea that a gate in his mind had been opened. One he was no struggling to close. 

...

Bystanders, both old men and cabaret girls, fled from the gunfire, tripping over each other and themselves the longer the hallway leading out seemed. Among the panic and push to escape, at least one or two must have dashed to the nearest payphone, getting through to the police to scream in their ears about madmen who opened fire out of nowhere in the little cabaret club on Pink Street. 

Within approximately two minutes the entire ground floor had been trashed. Tables had been flipped for cover, the wood of the main bar was a wreck with piercing bullet holes that were lodged hallway in. Luckily, because of this, Sakamoto's head remained attached to his shoulders. 

He sank his teeth into the action, going through magnum after magnum for his nine-millimetre in a rush to bring this disaster of a night to an immediate halt. If the police were to break down the doors before Sakamoto had Daichi pinned to the ground for his capture every man in this room was going to face several long years behind bars. Then the dispute would never end. Men from Daichi's side blocked every entrance to prevent any interruptions. The plan? Perhaps Daichi was set to make his way up to the second floor, which lay behind Sakamoto. There was most likely a fire exit there that would lead them into the alleyway behind the building - hopefully out of sight from the police. 

Why? 

So the Kaientai faction could make their own escape safely and out of the government dog's clutches. 

Sakamoto could clarify to Takasugi that taking care of rogue yakuza members was messier than he had hoped. The next time they met, that is. If they met again. 

"Sakamoto-dono! I don't know if we can keep holding them off!" 

"Of course ya can, little brother! But we'd better do it before the copper's show up! Otherwise we'll be in big~ trouble! Haha, ahahaahaha!"

"How the hell can you be laughing at a time like this, Boss?!"

"Why the hell is Vice-Commander Mutsu not here?!"

Because she was putting her feet up in Osaka. Sakamoto would tell the guys kneeling next to him, firing their guns rapidly at the enemy with little time for distractions, that they really need to pay more attention during business meetings. Then they wouldn't have to waste their time asking silly questions. Sadly neither of them could hear their boss anyway. By the end of all this everyone's eardrums would have shattered - so what the hell did it matter. 

Sakamoto threw his arm over the bar's counter once again, blasting the trigger of his weapon again, and again, again, even when he could barely see anything past the blaze of bullets aiming to pop a hole in his skull. The aim here wasn't to leave corpses in their wake; but to merely wound and render incapable of firing back. Good thing Mutsu made that fact abundantly clear at some point or another in Sakamoto's place while his head lay peacefully atop the meeting room table while drool bubbles slid down his chin. 

The fresh rounds from Sakamoto's pistol shot through the walls behind Daichi's men. Some sliced through shoulders or exposed legs, and the enemy just dropped like flies one after another. Granted, Sakamoto's team wasn't exactly immune to bullets. Distant cries and the distinct thud of heavy body crashing to the ground was awfully daunting. Yet they crawled up off the floor and continued to fire with whichever arm that could still grab a pistol and fire - as shaky as their aim may have been. 

The infernal ringing that screamed in Sakamoto's ears from the constant blast of gunfire had him grimacing in the middle of the fray. Ducked behind the bar, he caught his breath. Reloading his weapon again he found himself at a loss for ammunition. Although Daichi couldn't have been too far behind him. 

Sooner than Sakamoto desired, the magnum in his hand ran empty once again. 

"Ah, shit! I'm outta bullets!" Others joined him. 

"Fuck! So am I!" One after the other. 

"Damn...B-boss, what do we-...?!" Altogether. 

Bullets continued to shower the room, smash through glass casing, or bounce off the walls. At odd times, slowly. Then, out of the blue, relief struck when silence soon covered the ground floor. All at once - no joke, no hijinks. No trickery just to get Sakamoto to lift his head up from cover. 

"...". 

A long, suspenseful pause left the men waiting in silence for the next bullet to fire into the air whether it hit a target or chipped another table. After a short while, it was obvious that there were no longer any bullets to fire. Thus, in time, both sides were forced to stand up from cover and face their demons without fear. Everyone had lowered their guns, but that didn't put a stop to the tension hanging them all by a dangerously thin thread. 

"Huh. Well this is awkward, ain't it fellas?" 

Of course Sakamoto hopped in to dice the mood into nothing more than crude shtick. 

"Yoshida-kun! B-boss, you need to get the hell outta here!" A man on Daichi's side provoked him to run. Offering nothing but his words and a harsh slap on the back to get him started. 

"Yeah, Boss. You've gotta get the fuck outta here before Takasugi finds you". 

"Are you fucking kidding me?! What about the rest of ya, huh?!" 

"We're gonna hang back and brawl these bastards. We don't have our guns, but that don't mean we can't use our fists. Now fucking go already!" 

"The cops could break in any second!" 

Damn right they could. Beyond the barricades, police officers geared up in armoured vests were preparing an all-out attack on the scene with tear-gas and potentially an armoury of assault rifles and stun rods to keep things interesting. The current lack of noise allowed all party members to listen in for the banging on all doors. Soon there would be a thundering crash as the barricades would be ripped down. A thick, suffocating fog of gas would flood the place from the floor to the ceiling within seconds. 

Seeing everything come true in the mind's eye really set Daichi off on a mad dash for the stairs located in the back room. No warning, he simply went on his way. 

"Sakamoto-dono, you go on ahead! We'll keep these bastards occupied for as long as you need!" 

"Atta boys!" Sakamoto exclaimed, watching the men draw closer with fists at the ready. "Make sure not to get yourselves trapped, though, alright? Once you've dealt with these knuckle-draggers, do what you can to avoid the cops and escape. Got it? See ya on the other side, boys! And good luck!" 

Sakamoto sprinted on for the back room while the air was still clear and the men charging into battle behind him were still very much alive. He grinned to himself thinking the worst before anything truly happened. The man was never much of a pessimist. In fact, this was the least optimistic thought of his entire life. Maybe the game had gotten him scared. Takasugi sure had a sick sense of humour for sending Sakamoto off to a playground like this; covered in broken glass and used needles. Honestly... 

The stairs leading up were narrow and bumpy. Sakamoto didn't stop to complain about the uncomfortable ride up, even when his body slammed left and right against the walls with every two or so steps ahead. What faced him beyond the flight up was, of course, any old hallway. He stopped for a quick gander. Taking a note of the two closed doors at either side of him was less than useful. What caught his eye was the far end of the hallway, were a single window lay open. An evening breeze had fluttering in to sway the curtains and give off this sense of a sudden but sly escape. 

The fire escape was up ahead. He was sure of it. No other way out but downward. The sirens reached his ringing ears. The lights, however, could not be seen. For Daichi's sake, that was the best thing. 

Wasting very little time, Sakamoto jogged across creaky floors and poked his head out from the open window. Sure enough a sturdy-looking balcony was built before him. A metal, rusted ladder sat off to the side. From here, he couldn't peer down after the metal, grated balcony floor. He got the sense that now was a good idea to pull out his empty gun. 

The bare magnum dropped to the carpet below his feet, hollow and almost soundless. 

Instinct is what kept him going. Instinct is what threw his hand back underneath the hem of his jacket. It's what swiped a hidden holster of bullets, quickly shoving it back into the pistol. It's what kept him alive for yet another day, when he could listen in to his surroundings, and finally pick up the odd creak of the floorboards emitting from behind. 

Sakamoto swung himself around, pistol in hand, sensing hot breath tickle his back. The barrel met a forehead in the split of a second. Daichi Yoshida's forehead, his hands trembling then - if not before when he so contently grasped an army-style knife. The door on the left of the hallway, right behind him, now ajar and exposed. Honestly Sakamoto blamed himself for not catching on to such a flimsy bluff a lot sooner, but what would be so fun about checking the doors? 

"Haha, gotcha, Daichi-kun! Man, you almost had me - nearly shit myself back there". 

"I...Hehehe, I thought you were outta bullets back there". 

"I was. But you know it's smarter to always save a couple bullets for last. I wasn't gonna waste 'em on your men down there. I needed some way to persuade ya to give up". 

Daichi was sweating pellets. More bullets than Sakamoto, admittedly, had in his gun. He was panicking. Even dropped his knife and backed off from the intimidating pistol barrel staring him right between the eyes. 

"Look...Look, look, look - alright. Alright, man, you win. But-...But I can't come with ya". 

"Sure ya can. I'm gonna take ya to Takasugi-shi, and we can sort all of this out". 

"No, no! Dude...Jesus, dude - he'll fucking kill me! Don't you realise that?!" 

Sakamoto wasn't that naïve. As empty-headed as he looked there was a brain floating around in there somewhere, behind eyes that had witnessed a fair share of messed-up shit in every basement, dark alley or club back room. That being the sad, sad truth of the matter, Takasugi was, by far, not the first. 

"Nah, nah. I'm sure he just wants to talk about business. You know? Just relax, Daichi-kun. If you just follow me down the fire escape we can go see him together. If you come quietly I'll put in a good word for ya. Tell him you came peacefully". 

"Fuck that, man! Look, Tatsuma, please...Just-...Just lemme go! I'm beggin' ya! I can't...I can't...!" 

"Then why did you do all of this in the first place?" 

"M-money! Freedom! Why the fuck else would I do this?! I thought we could get away with it - I was told we could!" 

"By Matsumoto-san?" 

"No...No. By the boss - the real boss. He's the one pulling the strings, he...He'd kill me too...I know he would! Fuck, shit, man!" 

Daichi was in one hell of a frenzy. To be perfectly honest, Sakamoto felt a shade of pity for him. He felt bad putting him under so much duress. Sadly, he wasn't allowed to let him go. 

Storming up the stairs behind them was a couple of Sakamoto's men, beat up and tired, but still standing tall. Sirens whirred in the air, non-stop. Daichi could hear it too. He stopped just to listen. His eyes were wide, and afraid. Eventually he...broke. 

"I...I gotta go to the cops! I'd rather go to fucking prison than die at the hands of that-...That psycho! Let me go!" 

In a panic, Daichi lunged for the stairs. He lost his footing and fell into Sakamoto's men, who firmly held him back. They kept him away from the stairs, away from the police, away from prison and a death that was inevitably going to be prolonged if he escaped down a much slower route. It was sad how desperate he was. Kicking and screaming like a child. 

"No! Noooo! Let me go! Fucking let me go! I don't wanna die! I don't wanna diiieeeee!" 

Sighing, Sakamoto slid his gun back into its holster. He pondered whether Matsumoto would go down the same forsaken path of fear and resilience. Left at a total loss at the idea of kneeling before Shinsuke Takasugi to be judged. It didn't feel right to go so far. But after a while of carrying such a heavy brand on your back, questioning the difference between right and wrong becomes so pointless. 

This was the job. As far as Sakamoto was concerned, the job was finally over. 

...

An urgent call came through to the station late in the evening, requesting a S.W.A.T team to ride out into the night for a local cabaret club a few blocks away from the main street. Dozy, Hijikata heard there had been a shooting. That Matsudaira had driven down there to take charge of the men and women storming the place in riot gear, unstoppable and furious. 

Hijikata walked back into the station long after his shift had drawn to a close. Unfinished business had him dragging his feet behind him; decided to unpack every file he had on hand, obtained from the bar. Frankly he couldn't care less about resting right now while he was already so restless and unforgiving. Another night spent rifling through paperwork at his desk felt more homely than the empty apartment lying in wait in one of the dimmest streets in Tokyo. Co-workers questioned his motives but none received an answer other than: work is work, or a phrase of a similar calibre. 

A quick trip to the break room would suit him just fine. A smoke and a fresh pot of coffee to set his mind in the right place. To be fair he stumbled for the water cooler first and foremost. Why, he couldn't say off the top of his head. He knew he was parched after sobering up. Felt another mild throbbing against his temple. So he snatched a cup and took a still, cool drink of H2O before he lost his voice to dehydration. 

"Oi, Mr Policeman, mind if I get some of that? I'm parched". 

A mailbox-shaped aperture had been opened on one of the cell doors. Left as such for anyone to peek through if they were nosy enough. Out of all the jailbirds locked up in these narrow boxes, the White Yaksha was allowed some insight into the station's break room. Between his cell and said room was a very slant hallway built into the corner of the ground floor. He could speak if he wished, and anyone in passing could listen. 

That person just happened to be Hijikata. 

"...". Hijikata didn't respond whatsoever. He acknowledged Gintoki's visible presence - that much was clear when he dared look him in the eyes. 

Instead of reacting angrily he continued to sip his water, tired and in some form of pain or another. Simply put, his head blanked out as he continued to sip his water. 

"Don't ignore me now. A guy's entitled to a drink, isn't he?"

"...". 

There was a hook to this cell door's envelope slot. The next time Gintoki decided to open his mouth, eyes leering through, Hijikata strolled to it and slowly edged the metal flap closed - but he didn't get too far. 

Gintoki didn't try to feign panic or desperation. His brow furrowed, as amusing as it was, and instead of yelling or pleading with the Vice-Commander he spoke...softly. Calmly. Turned out the Yaksha was just as worn out as Hijikata in the end. Lingering around the same four walls for so long must have gotten to him faster than even he predicted. 

"How goes the investigation? Tiring work, I'm sure". 

Hijikata stopped before the last shred of light disappeared from Gintoki's cell. Yes, he had persuaded himself to stop, to open it up again and look Gintoki right in the eyes. No contempt this time around. Merely a man exhausted from work and drinking and more work to come. 

"Why do you care?" 

"Well, I shouldn't". Gintoki shrugged stiffly. From outside it seemed plausible that Gintoki had made himself quite comfortable sitting by the door all night, however he continued to fidget and make a fuss. "But my life kinda depends on whether you ask for my help or not. By the looks of things, you haven't turned any new leads".

"It's not really any of your business, now, is it?"

"Could be".

"Could be that you're full of shit". 

The stubbornness - Oh the stubbornness of a man still yet to crumble before his feet. Though still in uniform Hijikata made his feelings very clear by sticking with insults to spit back at Gintoki. An unprofessional take on his job but in his groggy state of mind he was beyond keeping his act together. He had had enough. Had enough of this back and forth debate deciding whether he could drop everything he argued up until now just for the yakuza's assistance or to keep his principles in check for one more day. 

"I've heard that one before". 

"...". 

"You look exhausted. I can even smell the sake from here. How low have our police sunk that they go out drinking during their shift?" 

"For your information, my shift ended an hour ago. But I decided to come back for overtime". 

Sadly because of this decision his body was groaning for sleep and his stomach was growling for food. He only just remembered that he skipped lunch today. 

"Hah, you're more dedicated that I thought. Colour me impressed. I used to work a nine-to-five job ya know. When I was in middle school, I mean". 

"That's too young to work full-time". 

"I know. Kept me out of trouble, though Paid for meals - not so much rent". 

Hard to imagine this guy carrying boxes to pick-up trucks, or wiping down café tables for chump change. Too vague and image to stick into Hijikata's head, having seen his real work with his own two eyes. 

"And look where you ended up". Hijikata sighed leaning against the wall, eyes glued to Gintoki's. 

"You don't know the half of it". Gintoki chuckled. Sarcastically? Light-heartedly? Hopelessly? 

"Meaning? Look, I didn't intend to pick up your life story. I...Why're you telling me this anyway? Trying to make amends with me or what?" 

"Che, like hell I am. Not on your life, mayo-sucking bastard. I was just saying that I know what hard, honest work feels like. Really, I do. Used to spend whole nights studying just to pass exams and get my ass through school". 

Again a picture like that was too blurred between the lines to see. 

"Yet you turned to a life of organised crime. And for what?" 

"Who knows. Like you said, you're not interested in my life story. So I'm not gonna waste your time telling it. I just wanted to make a point and say I'm not as bad as you cops make me out to be. Yeah, you don't trust me. But I wouldn't exactly lay down my life to you tax-thieves either. I'm just trying to live my life. Being in here's holding me back a bit, don't you think?" 

"So you offer to help with the investigation as an excuse to get yourself off the hook?" 

"I'm no innocent bystander, Hijikata-kun. But I can tell you for sure that I'm innocent in all of this loan shark business. Whether you believe me or not, I was given a job to shut them down. I thought if I offered some insight, some info that I got, the job could be wrapped up a lot quicker and you cops could get off my back, huh?" 

"...Not that I trust you-". 

"-Don't expect you to-". 

"-But what information?" 

"A name. I can't tell you anymore than that until you grant me a phone call for bail. If you let me do that, I'll pay the rest of my dues, go to court whatever, and then I'll be outta your hair". 

Gintoki acted so nonchalantly at the mention of standing before a court, his crimes exposed and another pair of cuffs binding his wrists. Not to mention a decade-long - maybe longer - sentence over his head that would send anyone's life down the drain. Never again could he look back from that. Not the yakuza. 

"Even if I do let you help, what makes you so sure the courts will let you walk free?" 

"I just know they will". Gintoki smiled lightly, peering up at Hijikata innocently, as if knowing no harm would come him way in the near future. Such confidence made him out to be a fool. "You can count on it. I bet ten years of my life on it". 

"That's quite a gamble". 

"I'm a gambling kinda man". 

Hijikata rightfully hesitated. Or perhaps he was wrong to do so, given the pile of work stacked in his office. Hundreds and hundreds of paragraphs to pass the hours by and leave him empty-handed or to exhausted to even look past his nose. Another moment spent turning in circles, he knew at some point he would have to stop stubbornly treading around and around when there was clearly nowhere left to turn. 

Once the loan shark's boss picked up on Watanabe's arrest, what were the chances that he would hightail it? The Shinsengumi would be left with nothing. Surveying the files could be useful, but when would something turn up? A day, two, a week? Somehow as the nights dragged Hijikata could sense a clock ticking at the back of his head. Paranoia, maybe. Or Watanabe's boss really could flee if given the opportunity. 

Where would this info, that Gintoki claimed to have, leave them? Hijikata couldn't be sure. He couldn't guarantee that Gintoki's cooperation would lead them out of the dead-end. 

"...". 

"Whatever happens, me offering information doesn't make us friends. It doesn't mean I can completely get off the hook for avoiding arrest and whatnot. But I expect that you give me a chance to clear the air. What do you say, Demonic Vice-Commander?" 

Gintoki tenderly slid his hand through the slot of his cell door. Limp and bandaged, he held out for a long time, waiting for Hijikata to accept his hand as though they were never enemies. A gesture so civil was unbecoming of them. Gintoki really was tired. He'd lost his mind tapping his feet across the walls for fun, nibbling on the slice of rounded bread provided. 

Closer inspection indicated how tired he was; tired of all this at least. Dark circles lay beneath glimmering maroon pearls. Staring into them, then down at the bloody, scathed hand poking out from the cell's envelope, Hijikata continued to hesitate. 

Felt like Hijikata was on the verge of signing a contract with the devil. A demon in disguise. Honestly he wasn't one to judge individuals based on their sins, having often recognised his own. That little speech didn't make his case anymore compelling. Hijikata wasn't totally convinced that he could trust a member of the yakuza with an investigation such as this. Thinking about it more and more swayed his stomach around in the most sickening fashion. Alcohol didn't help much in that regard. Made him want to throw up - more than he wished to shake the White Yaksha's hand. 

He looked back on Kondo's words. Memorised them piece by piece. Although it pained him deep inside he did say he would keep an open mind and look behind the mask of a demon in order to find the man. This was the worst occasion for Hijikata to take heed on his good friend's words and embrace them like gospel. 

What an almighty pain in the ass. What a croc. A disaster waiting to happen. A calm before the storm. If there was any other way, Hijikata begged from the bottom of his heart for all the answers to fall from the sky and show him the way without Gintoki Sakata's unwanted assistance. But there was no other signs pointing him any which way. And now, stuck in the middle of his pride and the potential success of this case, Hijikata had never felt as exhausted as he did during this long, frustrating pause as he stared blankly down at Gintoki's tattered palm and bruised up fingers. 

For a second or two he wondered just how cold a yakuza's hand was. 

Whether he wanted to find out or not was entirely up to him, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't easy to write and rewrite and then rewrite again...
> 
> One final chapter of the first arc. I didn't expect to write it in three chapters but I'm very reluctant on making the chapters drag on too long in just a single chapter, so here we are. I liked writing this one. And I look forward to the next chapter. It'll be more satisfying when the first arc's completed. Then I can go back and fix any silly typos and such.
> 
> I did it, guys...I did it.
> 
>  
> 
> Toodles :3


	4. Demons Prowling Arc: Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first arc: done! It's a little longer than I wanted, but it's finished, and I'm happy with it. These are not easy, but here I am - I'm living the dream.
> 
> Although, I think at this point, I'm more concerned with the complexity of the plot than the length of the chapter or my writing descriptions. I don't want it to be too complex and all over the place, but I don't want to hold everyone's hand through the chapters either. 
> 
> But I'm powering through okay. So here we are. I finished the first arc, although I'm going to make sure to carry the very last scene into the next arc. After this I'm going to go back to slice of life, and just go back and forth from there.
> 
> Surely my head won't explode.
> 
> (Also, I've added numbers instead of an ellipses to mark the beginning and end of scenes, just for presentation's sake. I'll be going back to do that for the other chapters as well, at some point).

1

Hijikata chose to never find out.

A yakuza's touch would continue to feel stiffly cold and unwarranted in his mind, where his judgements solemnly dwelled inside his head. Nothing would ever even begin to change. Even if Gintoki did manage to miss the drop of the jurisdictions guillotine, costing only a few hairs on his permed head, Hijikata wouldn't stop trying to catch him out in some criminal act or another. Gintoki was dangerously close to getting himself thrown into a bigger cell somewhere grimmer than the holding blocks piled up at the station. And yet Hijikata stood around, sipping his next cup of coffee, watching the White Yaksha unrestrained, roaming free with a phone receiver in his hand, preparing to bail out before a definite court date was assigned to him.

Freedom was already in his reach; this time.

"Hey, Hijikata-san, you sure about this?"

Okita strolled out from the break room, sipping from an energy drink can that reeked of a completely foreign substance. Like chemicals and waste watered down into caffeine and wrung out into a can. An inexplicably foul stench that disgusted even the nicotine addict drinking his strong, bitter dose of morning coffee.

"Sure about what?"

"Fishing out info from _Danna_. What else?"

"I don't know. It's a start anyway. If his information proves useless, we could always put in word to the courts that he wasted police time".

"Ouch. That's pretty ruthless, even by my standards".

It wasn't often that Okita pulled off a sadistic smirk that wasn't directed at Hijikata, for a guy who used to pour whole bottles of tobasco into every third or fourth cup of coffee on his boss' desk. He never bothered to make up excuses either if it meant watching Hijikata's face burn with rage. Watching Okita's short attention span spiral elsewhere was nothing short of a relief. The constant antagonising had settled down for one day while he idly sat back and watched someone else dance instead. Sadly, in Hijikata's case, it wouldn't last.

Gintoki eventually put down the phone, and that's after he slammed the receiver once or twice into oblivion for good measure. Seemed obvious that he exhaled some built-up anger through the receiver clenched in his hand when an obnoxious voicemail came through instead of an obnoxious greeting. He was prepared to listen to questions by the dozens about the job and his current whereabouts instead of even being denied a simple hello. Because now he was stuck and unsure whether that airhead would even listen to any of his voicemail messages.

Slamming the phone back into it's slot a couple times barely helped calm him. All it did was leave an annoying ringing to vibrate in the tunnels of his ears after every tone with every impactful smack against the payphone's box. Still standing in front of the station's one and only payphone, eventually resting himself against the coolness of the bleak-coloured wall, Gintoki collected his thoughts and awaited the demon in black to drag him off into the interrogation room one last time.

A sideward glance in his direction confirmed that his time limit had come to an abrupt end. Said time limit had been set five minutes ago. He had two minutes. Twenty seconds was what he got when having to listen to a cheesy voicemail before getting the message across. What Gintoki dreaded most was never seeing that stupid face walk through those station doors for another week because, apparently, Chihaya from the twelve-hour lounge deserved the brunt of his time even during closing hours. Or Miss-Whoever booked a hotel room already so he wouldn't have to go home for another two days.

Hijikata's utility belt rattled and clinked ominously while he walked. A subtle reminder that another day inside the damp and dingy holding cell was in store if his rescue proved useless. Funny thing was that after all these years, the term "useless" had turned into an understatement. A few more minutes stuck in the interrogation room didn't sound too bad in comparison. When stuck with Hijikata again, however, Gintoki was building up a sweat. Oh, of course he wasn't afraid. Not in a million years. Frustration was his main motivation to scrunch his nose up above all else right now.

A very familiar, albeit harmless (in this instance at least), feeling of being watched struck Gintoki the moment he entered the room for a second time. That was out of his control. In his position, it was a feeling he had to grow accustomed to if his upcoming trial went south. He tried not to think about it too much.

"So,". Hijikata began to speak calmly. Quite a change in attitude since the previous evening when he was all up in arms about Gintoki's provocativeness. "This lead you found...Just so I know you're not bullshitting, you mind telling me where exactly you found this lead?"

"Why would I bullshit ya?"

"Only you would know the answer to that, but I would assume it'd be a way to purposefully drag me in the wrong direction for your own benefit".

"Jesus, do you get a lotta criminals that pull your leg like that? I never thought the brains of the Shinsengumi could be so gullible".

"It's a precaution, especially knowing that I'm dealing with a walking fifty-foot drop here".

Gintoki would be offended if not for many, previous instances where he was deemed an idiot or dangerous. He was reckless, and he knew it. Wore that reputation like a gold medal on his fifty-thousand yen suit's lapel.

"I don't have a reason to lie-".

"-Anymore, because you would be in an even deeper pile of shit than you already are-".

"-Uh, yeah, yeah. You made that perfectly clear the second you cuffed me. Ahem! As I was gonna say, I found this name - A guy named Kenta Yamamoto - in an address book hidden in Watanabe's safe. You know, the one you guys totally overlooked".

Even under a mountain of pressure, Gintoki held onto the smugness and the mockery for the sake of his sanity. Panicking and acting like the guilty party rather than a juvenile man-child would only hammer another nail into the coffin. Plus getting on Hijikata's nerves had turned into a perverse aesthetic by this point, watching him frustrate over his behaviour.

However, at this moment in time, much to Gintoki's surprise and amusement, Hijikata kept a cool head on his shoulders and simply refused to waver for the sake of starting a dominance war.

"And how do you know it has anything to do with the loan shark spearhead we're looking for?"

"I flipped through the pages, and, well, his name showed up several times". All this information was rooted from a blurry photographic memory. Gintoki knew he couldn't hesitate so he went with the flow as the words came to him, spinning the blur from yesterday around like it was on a spindle, weaving every brief moment together as accurately as he could make it. "The characters were a mess, so...".

"Either he has crappy handwriting or he was in a hurry to jot the name down".

"Oi, you mind refraining from finishing my sentences? It's creepy".

"I'm not trying to finish your sentences. I'm just-".

"-A creep?"

"-Thinking aloud! And you're doing it too. So, where is this address book now?"

"Ahh...'bout that. Lost it somewhere in, or somewhere near, Watanabe's bar".

Hijikata refrained from acting disappointed or lost on the matter. His eyebrow arched subtly above the other, indicating a sense of suspicion rather than worry or fear of hitting yet another dead end.

"So there's absolutely no way to confirm the reliability of your source".

"Hey, hey, hey - don't gimme that look. I'm the one who found the safe in Watanabe's office - and you know for a fact that I didn't take any cash with me. You said it yourself, you knew I was pining after something else, but it didn't turn up in my pockets. Believe me, I was just as shocked as you were when it wasn't stuffed in my pants".

"Fine. Did this supposed address book mention anything else? You know, something useful other than a name?"

"I'm pretty sure some appointment times were scribbled down, but nothing beyond that. If Watanabe was familiar with this Yamamoto guy, I'd doubt he'd have to constantly jot down the address, am I right?"

"Hm, that's actually a valid point. If Yamamoto really is his boss, then he would be familiar with his location. If no other addresses were written down, it certainly says that the loan sharks have no intention of moving...Unless they're caught, perhaps".

"See?" Gintoki leaned back in his chair. With his hands resting behind his head, and his back pressing hard against the head of the chair, he grinned a toothed grin with as much shame as expected from any brazen man such as himself. "Maybe I should be getting into this detective work myself - I could take over your job if you gimme a week".

"Don't get so full of yourself. Alright, I'll look into this name. But if I find out it's a useless lead, I'll make damn sure that your head is gonna roll. Understand?"

"Sure. It's not like I'll be totally scot-free anyway, even if I am right about Yamamoto. Oh, and before I forget, the name of the company is Omi Loans. That should make the hunt a little easier".

"Uh-huh...I'll take over from here, then. You just wait for one of your buddies to come around and bail you out. But I suggest you stay out of the investigation. This is police work, and I don't need any of you yakuza degenerates toying with, or stealing, evidence".

"I can only promise to stay outta your way, Mr Vice-Commander-san".

Before the metal of the folding chair snapped, Gintoki scraped its legs across the floor, making room to stand and walk away from the scene, holding the same smile on his face.

"Now, if you don't mind cuffing me, you can safely escort me back to my cell".

He went as far as to hold up his wrists in Hijikata's direction, making no attempt to resist. He simply accepted.

Any previous pain caused by the handcuffs numbed around Gintoki's wrists. Instead of expressing the same anger and feigned innocence from the moment he was first arrested, he coolly treaded through the halls, smiling, confident that he would never have to face cramped spaces and men in uniforms again. As to whether he lied in his testimony; Hijikata couldn't possibly be a hundred-percent sure, but it was enough to keep him motivated to skim around the files for more information than what Gintoki provided.

A name had to be enough for now.

 

2

During the grimmer mornings, one of the largest pedestrian crossings in the world was a flood of noise, turning into a claustrophobic catastrophe in an instant, as soon as ordinary working hours began and stores opened their doors at the earliest. And Katsura was going head-to-head with it all at once. Tension was his biggest downfall the moment he walked onto the fifth platform of Shibuya Station, knowing he had entered a familiar location that suddenly appeared so foreign to him.

The fear of getting himself caught up in a web due to his work was nothing unusual. It comes and goes with every new life-threatening job, far away from the comfort zones of Shinjuku's apartment complexes and private lounges.

He thought that his stomach and his mind would be numb to the prospect of being caught red-handed in a criminal act, whether it was against the police force or a company outside of the yakuza, but the truth was that today he was treading on unscathed land. Meeting Hikaru Matsumoto for the first time in weeks was a wake-up call to the dangers sprouting branches beneath his feet, and thereby wrapping around his ankles like shackles. Not a minute went by when he didn't shed a single doubt in his mind, but instead clung onto them in case he could be knocked out or shot the moment Matsumoto caught onto his plans.

As much as it was a hassle to think about, Katsura continuously had the same nagging notion that Matsumoto was working hand-in-hand with some amateur loan sharks. And for what? Before either Sakamoto or Takasugi could get in touch, Katsura couldn't be a-hundred percent sure that Matsumoto was involved, unless there was concrete evidence somewhere around his office. Or, in the worst case scenario, he had a habit of keeping most of his private documents at home. _Protecting them._

"I must apologise, Katsura-san, but at the moment secretary work is the only thing I have available".

Matsumoto was a very well-spoken man. Articulate and proper in comparison to Sakamoto or Gintoki, who would likely sarcastically scoff at such a character with an almost royal contempt.

He wasn't very tall. That was notable in Katsura's mind, mainly because Matsumoto couldn't have been any taller than Takasugi. And like Takasugi he made a conscious effort to straighten his back and keep his eyes looking on ahead rather than leering down at his feet like an introvert. He was a man who took pride in his work. Confidence was one of his key traits, as it is with any aspiring businessperson. Being polite and mild-mannered was simply a personality rather than principle.

"I don't mind at all. I used to spend a lot of time partaking in secretary work when I was a teenager - Ah, part-time work, that is".

"I'm not at all surprised, actually. You're quite fast and efficient with a typewriter, and as far as I've heard, you handle a computer rather well. I regret not insisting to give you a work placement at one of my firms".

"Sorry, Matsumoto-san, but I'd still have to decline. Although I'm sure your working conditions are very reasonable, I cannot picture myself baring the fruits of my labour while sitting down in a cushy office in front of a typewriter, or even in front of one of those new computer systems".

"I see". Hands grasping each other behind his back, Matsumoto nodded his head flatly, disappointed but not one to argue back.

"But, of course, having heard that you're short-handed, I would be more than happy to temporarily help a friend. Just until you find yourself a new secretary".

"Well, I'm awfully grateful to you, Katsura-san. Did Takasugi-dono inform you that I've come up short-handed?"

"Hm? Oh, no. In fact I heard it from Ichika-san; he returned from Shibuya a few weeks ago and told me so".

That, as luck would have it, would perhaps be the most convenient lie Katsura would ever have to tell during this business trip. Either that or this Ichika was a stronger ally to Takasugi than he was to Matsumoto.

"...Is that so". Matsumoto muttered. Once again his tone was rather flat. Not a single imbalanced emotion presented itself on his face, therefore Katsura couldn't stop himself from making a mental note - as a sort of reminder to keep his story straight and accurate from then on.

Katsura was consciousness of his willingness to reply without two seconds of hesitance. Any vague or unwarranted responses could land him in hot water, so at least thinking before speaking was a must. He did come up with one story or another the previous night while lying awake on the hard block of wood that those motel managers call a mattress; and he made sure to stick to it. Any silly bursts of forgetfulness could only lead to a pitfall collapsing from underneath him.

He tried going with the flow during a conversation that could, incidentally, push him into a corner, while simultaneously being led through foreign hallways to an office that would act as his prison for the next couple days; monitored and blocked off from Shinjuku, the safe zone that he aimed for when this business was over.

The front desk that Katsura would be working with was nothing too decorative, in terms of design or scale. It was simple and steady, and shamelessly covering up a faded coffee stain the previous secretary left on the clear, cyan-coloured carpet. Files and stationery of various calibre scattered its surface, hiding anything of importance such as the telephone, desk drawers, open notebooks, and so on. Katsura couldn't make heads or tails of this mess until he sat down on the desk chair, which was partially ripped and squeaky with use.

"You'll have to forgive the mess. Yuka-san left our workplace in quite a hurry a couple days ago. Said she had important family business to attend to, so her old desk has been left in an unsightly state".

"It can't be helped. I'll get around to cleaning it up". Katsura didn't hesitate to offer. Although begrudged, he took it upon himself to carry responsibility out of an undying habit.

"Oh, no, I couldn't make you do that, Katsura-san".

"It's perfectly fine. I joined the yakuza, knowing I would get my hands dirty. And that includes cleaning up other people's messes. Just look at Gintoki and Tatsuma; I practically babysit those two".

The very thought sent shivers down Katsura's spine; an unpleasant feeling that stuck to the pores of his skin for as long as he could remember, and yet the man never once protested. Only now was that crossing his mind. The filthy memories of old comic book volumes and juice cartons, crushed and laid to waste, had never left him. The stenches and the must like that of a men's locker room in every bathroom and bedroom, throughout the sheets and fogged mirrors, caked in shower steam and deodorant was all terrifying to look back on. Remembering made him grateful to own a bachelor's one-bedroom apartment rather than sharing.

"Hahaha, I suppose that's true, yes". This guy couldn't possibly know the half of it. Thinking that, Katsura grimaced away from him upon approaching his new desk. "If you would like some assistance...".

"I'll ask, but I doubt I'll need it. Thanks, Matsumoto-san".

"I should let you get on with it. If you need anything, you know where I'll be".

Katsura slid right into position effortlessly; a home away from hell smack-bang in the middle of Shibuya where no one could possibly be aware of his position or intentions. He grew wary, simply watching Matsumoto slip away behind a wall, down an unmarked hallway. Eyes could be watching him from any which direction, and that perhaps was the most challenging obstacle.

When the silence covered the room, and the halls, and the offices behind and beyond the double doors standing in front of him, Katsura didn't take anymore time than he needed to act natural, and go with the flow, as he told himself. He shuffled paperwork that seemed useless, pushed pencils, but kept his hands to himself when eyeing the three-by-three sections of drawers lining the desk, above and around his legs. They were too skinny to hold stationery, but wide enough to keep documents safe. Even after venturing this far, he thought it would be out of place to snoop around the moment he arrived, unless asked otherwise.

The first ten minutes were spent cleaning up a woman's old desk with no indication that she would be returning to tidy it herself. Katsura wasn't sure what to think, so he shuffled through, and kept his head down, letting each and every question puzzle inside his head as the time came and went. When the right opportunity arrived he wouldn't be rolling around in a tattered desk chair for much longer. Movement of both mind and body was crucial. Timing, however, was a different matter entirely. And for a while, it left Katsura stumped, and all the more wary of his surroundings.

3

Home was too far away, and this was as urgent as it gets. How comedic that even after paying his dues Gintoki was still stuck between his job and the cops when standing out in the open, staring at the same building, with a payphone receiver sticking to his sweat-covered palm. He waited impatiently for the tone to cut off and for a familiar voice to answer him.

["Hello?"]

At first he didn't think twice about who's voice spoke to him in that calm, formal fashion, hence he didn't even think to hesitate and take into account that it was one of the ninety-six-percent of guys running around the offices that he detested most. Mainly those with attitude problems or superiority complexes - Those bastards really got under Gintoki's skin. In his eyes he was the only one allowed to have a dead-eyed, carefree attitude. Dominance was a whole other issue.

"Yo, it's Gin-san. Just calling in to the "big boss" to give an update...And maybe some info".

["Sakata-san? A bit late for an update, is it not?"]

Gintoki grimaced away from the receiver. Flinching and uncomfortably curling his toes. Taking the time to compose himself he clicked his tongue, irritated and thoroughly disturbed from the moment the pieces of the puzzle - in terms of the voice sending a chill through the line - came together. He remembered that voice and, unfortunately, it didn't bode well with him even over the phone.

"That you, Pedo?"

["I'm not a pedo, I'm a feminist - and you'll address me as Takechi with whichever honorifics you find appropriate. You'd be lucky to lose your tongue if Shinsuke-dono knew you spoke with such disrespect"].

"Fine then, Takechi-pedo, you wanna hear this update or not?"

[" _Feminist._ Proceed, but don't waste my time"].

"Yeah, uh, have we got any info on a guy named Kenta Yamamoto? I found his name in Watanabe's address book - Which was stuffed in a safe, so if that isn't important...".

["Hmm..."]. Takechi paused. For what reason, Gintoki couldn't be sure. Whether he was asking a colleague like Bansai, or running through that fucked-up head of his for names. Still, from the hesitation alone, it was clear that Takechi had no idea either even before the pause. ["I'll have to look into it. Perhaps Shinsuke-dono will have more insight than a mere advisor such as myself"].

"How ironic. Fine. I'll check in later, but you mind getting Lieutenant Bansai to pick up next time? He's a scary dude, but he doesn't creep me out".

["Duly noted. Now, if you'll excuse me..."].

Gintoki hung the receiver up as calmly as his emotions would allow him to muster. Getting too frustrated wasn't going to help him any when he was already so lost. Without a bothersome queue lined up behind him he consciously took the time to remain boxed up between the payphone and the closed door. He was hopeful to think that even the police were stranded in the exact same predicament, but knowing the brains of the Shinsengumi fairly well through observations and annoyance, it was hard to imagine that they would catch these guys in no time at all with a name alone.

He puzzled over it again and again, wondering where he could begin following this narrow trail, if it would lead him anywhere in the first place. There were definitely potentially useful sources around Shinjuku. Some would be trickier to find than others. One in particular came up again and again. He suspected this person could assist him but would be sly enough to keep most of the information about this Kenta Yamamoto to themselves. If his suspicions were correct...If this person somehow took that address book behind Gintoki's back-...

The thoughts collected in his head quickly dispersed when a loud knocking shot through the transparent panes of the phone box, shaking the four square walls around him, ringing in his head.

Hearing the noise provoked Gintoki to immediately react, leading his eyes to the source of the noise. Intuition and common sense expected a short line of businesspeople waiting impatiently. Businesspeople who rushed to the nearest payphone in their own workaholic-motivated race for time to make that last-minute phone call to the office for whatever trivial reason. Much to Gintoki's bafflement, maybe even disappointment, he ended up furrowing his brows crudely at the quick realisation that only one businessman stood out there banging on the payphone door with absolutely no sense of time at all.

Gintoki didn't need to look over his shoulder after his bail was paid off so there remained an explanation for this sudden predicament grinning at him through a paper-thin sheet of glass. Maybe if he kept a watchful eye of his surroundings and an ear open for the same ground-shattering laughter that often, very briefly, impaired his hearing, he would get the opportunity to tell Sakamoto to piss off sooner. Sadly he was self-absorbed and numb to the quaking of unnaturally giddy cackles.

Sakamoto was grinning from ear to ear. Enthusiastically he gestured for Gintoki to come out of his think-box, giving no other signals than a few vague hand gestures and the same grin that bared no words. There was no reason for him to be presenting his teeth like that or knocking on the door of said think-box and yet he felt the need to grab Gintoki's full attention. Gintoki took his time sliding out from the payphone box. No rush meant a few seconds of preparation to be utterly amazed by the wonder that was Tatsuma Sakamoto, who must have been hanging around like a thick, invisible fog of morning breath for at least one important reason or another.

"So, Kintoki, you want my help or not?" He questioned, immediately confusing Gintoki without even dropping a second hello.

"Hah? When did I ask for your help? And what are you still doing here, man? I thought you had your own business to take care of with the loan sharks - Feels like you're slacking if you're coming to me".

The wide, cocky smile fell flat, but there was no reason for him to be offended. In fact Sakamoto was casual, brushing off Gintoki's confusion like a spec of dust clouding the colour in his suit.

"Well, for one, ya never asked for my help. I was jus' offerin', 'cause we're, y'know, buddies and all. I came to bail ya out, and then ask ya if ya wanted my assistance. And I've dealt with my end of the job already - We won't be gettin' any more trouble with the cabaret clubs now that Daichi-kun's outta the way".

"Huh, is that right...".

"Besides!" Then the smile jumped up as fast as it fell. What a pity; for a moment Gintoki considered the notion that Sakamoto felt other emotions to be somewhat accurate. Obviously that idea was completely bogus. "You're the one who's slackin' - gettin' yourself arrested like that. I mean really, Kintoki!"

"Oi, shut up about that. I think it'd be better if we both never brought this up again, deal?"

"As long as ya buy me a drink". A casual shrug, no hesitation or thought put into that bargain - A deal he probably made thousands of times with close friends rather than clients...Gintoki was truly fascinated by Sakamoto's selective intellect and wits.

"Fine. Besides, it's not like I could help getting my ass booked. That damn Vice-Commander has been on my ass for a while - and I bet he's still trying to catch me out".

"If that's the case, maybe ya _do_ need my assistance". Shamelessly, Sakamoto bluntly nudged Gintoki's elbow, though his arms remained loosely folded.

Gintoki took a step back.

"Nah, Tatsuma. I don't know about you, but I'm not a fan of owing multiple favours. Even if you are a buddy of mine, I know how you work, and it annoys the shit outta me".

"Hey, that's how trade works. Since you're a good friend, I woulda offered a discount".

"What, only half a serving of sake or a favour for a favour?"

Sakamoto shrugged again, just as casually, but this time he appeared impish and not at all subtle. It almost hurt to see him go down such a sadistic route when it came down to errands and favours, much like Takasugi. The only difference was that Sakamoto was bubbly and paid his dues with kindness, mostly. Other than that...

"If it's you, Kintoki, I'll take a meagre shot of sake if you were the one buyin'. Am I right?" He was an unabashed idiot.

"Uh-huh". Gintoki pulled off his own casual, impish smirk. And left his feelings at that. "Now that all of that's outta the way, you mind leaving me be? This is still my job".

"Yeah, I get it. Okay, then. You got any other sources that could help ya track this guy down?"

"I have one or two in mind".

"Then I'll wish ya luck and leave ya to track down the sharks yourself. Just be careful, man. Heh, that's probably all the advice you'll let me offer, I'm sure".

"Like I said, I hate owing multiple favours". Sakamoto took two sheepish steps back, still waiting to hear a solid "see ya later" before anything else. "I feel like if I ask you for advice, you'll get me to kill someone for you".

The new gap left between them had Gintoki raising his voice a smidge, smiling slightly while watching Sakamoto hesitate to leave.

"Oh you know I'd never do that. See ya around, Kintoki".

"It's _Gin_ toki, _Asswipe!_ "

Giving a casual wave in the wrong direction, as though half-assing the final goodbye, Sakamoto turned himself around and floated right down the street. Gintoki doubted that he had a clear destination or a schedule now that his job was over, so instead of fretting over all that he took a stroll and let his mind wander away from reality. All while his hands were buried warmly in the cups of his pockets to rattle around an odd collection of coins and key chains. No clear direction meant the man was still bouncing around his own head, contemplating his own nonsense while Gintoki watched, consciously bouncing around his own head for ideas.

Having nothing else at his disposal he strolled down his own end of the street towards the only person he could turn to that wasn't flaunting a police badge, or even a family crest. He kicked himself a few times over because the plan he had was so vague and the uncertainties of success greatly outweighed the possibility of a real, solid success. Inevitably it crossed his mind that stumbling down an already steep slope left the notion that jumping in with both feet was his only option available.

Unsurprisingly, however, Gintoki would sooner argue that he would rather tread further into the rabbit hole like a man than attempt to struggle out of it. There was a whole handful of future opportunities and experiences to lose. He smirked menacingly, acknowledging the woes of his career whole-heartedly, yet refrained from standing still in the middle of the street in broad daylight, pretending that he had no clue where to turn. He couldn't, even if he tried.

4

Incidentally there were too many files and far too many locations to count in one sitting. In a matter of hours Hijikata was cruising around from witness to witness through paper and small text, their information dug up from a mound of files that continued to clutter his desk. These witnesses, as far as the memoirs and schedules explained in every little detail, were often marked down as clients. Names, occupation titles, locations they frequented...

Everything was recorded and tucked away behind metal drawers and frames. Indifference shed itself across Hijikata's face with every new name and six-digit figure to blur between the lines of contract details and very illegal stalking tactics. Finding such elaborate files reminded him of a messier case of a young woman keeping a watchful eye on a man who worked at Dogenzaka Street in the evening, all the way in Shibuya. The guy wasn't as dense as the girl rambled on about in her report, otherwise he wouldn't have contacted the police and muttered curses within each and every shaky breath.

The point of the whole story replaying in his head was the notebook they found in the girl's room. Documents following the guy's every move - These files brought all those memories to light although these were much more organised and less clinically insane.

Instead of putting up with the drab hassle of spinning around in his office chair, he took action when doing nothing but reading and skimming and blurring the lines became futile. Letters, signed by Watanabe himself, seemed to go back and forth to a fairly large corporation built around West Shinjuku where some of the tallest landscapes in the country stood. He made a warranted visit to the offices of several accountants and bankers working away through dozens of numbers every minute of the day. Among them there lay a man of interest who's name jumped up among the letters as a person of interest.

 _Sato_ ; a name - his name - was carved finely into a silver plate hung up on an office doorway between the second and fourth floor. Hijikata presented himself in a way that conveyed a mild manner. Years of frowning made a challenge out of smiling politely, especially knowing he would also have to walk through the door, bow and then move on with questioning. The last thing he needed was the witness thinking he was a cop sniffing around for trouble.

The character he was scheduled to meet had his very own look that didn't take Hijikata by surprise. If anything it was very generic to meet yet another suit and tie with a face. However...Formalities in his appearance and attitude were standard in the business district, and yet Mr Sato carried a casual demeanour with him especially while he slouched and hunched his back over his desk, elbows propped up. Hijikata sat down in the office armchair offered to him and observed those qualities like it was second nature to pick up the vague scraps of someone's character and mannerisms. Or maybe it was a habit.

On his lap Hijikata held a notepad. Mere practice led his hand around the lines, ballpoint pen grasped between his fingers. All he had to do was talk, and listen, and to allow every detail to enter the realm of his forethought as it came to him.

"What I noticed in Watanabe's memoirs was that your info bounced around a lot, but was never described in great detail. He didn't make many notes about your income or occupation, just a couple business enquires, plus some reply letters that you sent to him. Mind discussing that?"

"Eh, I got nothin' to hide, officer". The casual flow of his words came with the scruffy goatee and combed-back hair. He wasn't purposely acting smug or outspoken. In Hijikata's professional opinion, the man had nothing to be afraid of as an innocent. If he was a villain in all this he would come off as being too cocky, like a certain someone.

"We'll see about that". Hijikata muttered, keeping his guard up and on hold if any contradictions or warnings came to pass. "Go on".

"Pretty obvious that you figured out my acquaintanceship with Mr Watanabe, but that's all it was in the end. He was working with my old boss, see, and we naturally exchanged business cards, as you do".

"Were you ever deeply involved in his business?"

"Not at all. I make good money as a banker. Besides, loan sharking is quite risky I hear. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be pushing back my schedule to meet you, now would I? Like I said, I've got nothing to hide" Sato pushed the lid of a small, cylindrical container, positioned neatly in the corner of his desk. The lid popped right off, and inside he kept several branded cigars stashed away. "Smoke?"

"Uh, thanks, but I don't smoke cigars. So, Watanabe...Did he ever introduce you to a Mr Kenta Yamamoto?"

"Mm, yeah, I think so".

"Huh...".

From his desk, Sato pulled out a bullet punch cutter, mumbling incoherently as he focused on preparing to smoke rather than being questioned. The head of his cigar snapped right off with a sharp click, falling to the floor. Hijikata's eyes remained steady and focused on Sato. His hand was frozen until the interrogation began once more.

"He's the big boss. Tends to move around a lot so I never got the privilege of having a formal meeting with him".

"I see. So do you mind explaining the letters you seemed to send back to Watanabe? I believe the last one you sent was four months ago".

"That's right. I'm getting to that. See...I, uh, never got in too deep with Watanabe's business - but one day he interrupted a night out I was spending with my wife - down in Supeinzaka. You ever been there?"

Hijikata shook his head, unconcerned but more eager than ever. Leaning in from the edge of his seat, the pen clutched in his fingers now steering limply further and further away form his grasp.

"Anyway," Sato started again, coughing smoke in between syllables. "He confronted me about this business deal he had planned. Asked me to make a huge investment".

"What for?"

"Apparently he was gonna give it to a guy in Shibuya through some big-shot realtor. Uhh...Fu-...Fur-...Fujita - Yeah, Goro Fujita was his name. Some bozo running a small theatre in the corner of Shibuya - Can't remember the name of it for the life of me, though, since it's pretty discreet".

"Are you sure?"

"Positive".

"Why a theatre?"

Sato shrugged flatly.

"God knows", he muttered, taking another musty drag from his cigar. "I didn't ask in huge detail. Just told him to get the fuck outta me and my woman's face. Ah, _politely._ Heard that this Fujita guy's got close ties with Yamamoto for business purposes and whatnot. I never found out any more. Cut ties with them as soon as I could".

"That's interesting...". Indeed. A new door had opened before his eyes, as black and eerie as the other side was. Hijikata recognised that it would be utterly foolish to close it before exploring with caution in mind. "Um, thank you, Sato-san. This will prove useful. You understand that you'll most likely need to testify in court at some point".

"Yeah, I know, Chief. Don't think I'm in any danger. At least I hope not...These guys...Watanabe, Yamamoto...I don't know what to make of them. But I'm sure you'll have a better time playing detective than I ever could".

"I'm working on it. I'll, uh, leave you to your business".

Smacking the curves of his knees, Hijikata stood up and pocketed the notebook and pen in the burrow of his breast pocket. Newcomers to the force would often giddily smile and pat themselves on the back during such a big break-through in a case. While they were still young and inexperienced enough to reach higher and higher in their achievements as a cop it was easy for them to feel so proud.

"You be careful too, Officer. Pretty dangerous world, even for the cops nowadays".

"I'm not sure how to respond to that. Yes, this is a shady side of the city, but we can handle ourselves".

Yes, watching them from behind the boss' desk gave Hijikata a momentary zing of nostalgia. However, even when he was an inexperienced brat going through his final semester of college he continued to furrow his brow and never dared to pat his own back. Some things weren't worth the extra effort if it never amounted as anything chivalrous or brave in the end. Not that he was looking to be some sort of hero. Far too many deaths and ditches of pure evil had crossed his path to feel proud. It had gotten to the point where he wasn't afraid to step straight into the ditch.

Sato pushed himself back against his chair, inclined and laidback, his smirk both amused and admiring towards Hijikata.

"Suit yourself" were the last words from Sato, the all-casual banker, before Hijikata promptly exited the building, taking assured, confident strides.

Upon taking his leave into the fresh air he lit up his own brand of cigarette while forgetting his last was a mere two hours ago inside the station break room. What he remembered, what he couldn't shake from his mind, was that Kenta Yamamoto was real. That the shifty-eyed White Yaksha wasn't totally lying through his teeth. Although the irritation never truly vanished into thin air, Hijikata could quietly admit that he was somewhat thankful. Apologising for his doubts, on the other hand, was out of the question. Doubting was a part of his job, and having to bow down in regret to such a cold and mocking man would be a personal insult.

He looked ahead, expecting to see the man himself mockingly smirk at him, uttering "I told ya so" with a smug contempt. Nothing of the sort occurred. That would be far too coincidental for Hijikata's tastes. Instead of dwelling on it, he took a walk, idly skimming through his messily scribbled notes. Some were tricky to decipher. Most were perfectly readable. And when putting two and two together with every phrase he could gather his thoughts properly and decide what his next steps were from here onward.

The worst thing lurking around the corner would be if this suddenly turned back into a contest, as Gintoki, for all Hijikata knew, was keeping up to speed.

5

"So can you lend a hand?"

"I dunno, Gin-san. Seems really shifty to me. Not like this is the first time...".

Flat and uncaring; the voice of a man who reached his peak a long time ago, though never could let go of the past. Although he was nowhere near pleased to look to the future with an open mind when every dark corner lay in his wake. An obstacle hit Gintoki right then. Its foundation built from regret and a contagious, negative aura like dark matter taking physical form in the palm of his hand. The presence glooming next to him was sinking, or had already sunk to rock bottom long ago. Still he sat down and spoke openly at his own risk.

Within the grounds of a children's park, a playground that was currently uninhabited due to school hours, acting as the background of East Shinjuku's city life, Gintoki sat with an old acquaintance - An acquaintance of sorts, whom he met under awkward circumstances. A now shabby-looking Taizou Hasegawa, the man who was reamed by men richer and incomparably stronger than him, who now sat under a crumbling rock climb without the means to get himself out. It was a sad tale. Depressing really. But Gintoki couldn't keep away from the guy for a handful of reasons. Pity being one, but let's leave it at that for now.

"I'm helping you out in return, aren't I?"

"Mmm...". Hasegawa smoked his cigarette, avoiding a response. Behind pitch-black shades were uncaring, tired old eyes that feared anymore trouble from the silver-permed yakuza.

"Come on~. I'm not asking you to do anything that'd put you in harm's way. It's a quick scouting job, and then I'll pay you back".

A dull, rehearsed lie was in store if Hasegawa were to hesitate anymore than he was. He was prepared to reject this guy's offers of any calibre until this very moment when they had met face-to-face at an unpredictable time, without warning. All of a sudden he found more peace in avoiding Gintoki's gaze while the cheap cigarette in between his fingers burned up faster that he could provide a sure answer.

"How much?" Hasegawa forced himself to act indifferently - That was obvious. Hiding his curiosity was nothing short of futile.

"However much you want".

"Can you get my house and wife back?" Sarcastically, although still pained beneath thick skin, he chuckled mildly, his voice raspy due to a thick layer of tobacco smoke tickling his throat.

"...Try something a bit more realistic maybe. A cheque, coupons for that sandwich bar down the street".

"You sound desperate now".

"Like hell I do. Just trying to make both our lives a bit easier, that's all".

Sincerity didn't come naturally to Gintoki. Thus there was this overbearing feeling that they were both partaking in a back-to-back façade of sorts. A saddening sight indeed for bystanders who so happened to tread past these two good-for-nothing old men sitting around on a playground bench during a workday.

"Don't get me wrong, Gin-san, I appreciate you trying to stick your neck out for my sake, but I'm gonna have to decline. I'm a man of principles, believe it or not. Even while I'm stuck in turmoil, unable to get myself out of this...ditch known as poverty and utter despair, I'll stand up straight like a man and work my way up slowly".

Admirable. Gintoki's smile widened into a flushed smirk, giddy and disbelieving. A collected phrase as polished as that had to have been rehearsed several times. He thought over each word carefully as his emotions soured freely. Perhaps in a moment of this despair, he was inspired to work hard and move forward down the slow path, through the mud that would ultimately drag him further down if he ever stopped. At his age Gintoki had a reason to look up to him if his own experiences in life weren't just as harsh, if not darker.

"...How does a-hundred-thousand sound? I might even add another fifty-thousand if you bring back photos from that little polaroid camera".

Hasegawa breathed in, holding onto that bubble of air and smoke for an excruciatingly long time. The bubble of his principles expanded until fit to burst. He could have choked on that last breath, his face turning blue, life slowly leaving his body the longer he remained frozen in shock. Then came the anti-climactic end of a foggy exhale of breath and a raspy series of coughs.

"...Deal". He squeaked through an aching windpipe. Coughed - and coughed again - while thumping the base of his chest.

"Atta boy. Here's the address". A roughly crumbled note was passed on, the ink just as crumpled, messing up every word. Hasegawa clutched it in the centre of his fist as he was suddenly more determined to earn a quick buck because who gives a shit about morals in this economy? "Remember to be discreet. If you get caught...".

"You can come fish me out of trouble".

"...Fine. See you around six".

Hasegawa tossed the remnants of the cigarette to the concrete where it burned out of existence. The ashes swept across the ground with the wind as quickly as the Madao in the sunglasses left.

Some space on the bench had now been left for Gintoki to lazily hang his feet up over the side. Laying down, he fidgeted around the uncomfortably solid, metal surface. The cold steel pushed against his spine, popping a bone here and there, contrasting with his own heated body temperature. The cuts left bandaged beneath his clothes burned, the pain rehashing itself until it was numb again. Arms crushed behind his head, he closed his eyes and let the darkness and the absence of coherent thought take over. Tired muscles around his legs throbbed having walked quite the distance.

Not a ray of sunlight was present to shine through his eyelids as there was only shade beneath a sky mustering up a shower. A storm. And the rain season had only just ended a couple months ago. Dreams of pink and white would soon float around his head like clouds, dumping work out through his ear in exchange for forty winks. If his watch was on time, he had roughly two hours until children would start running, screaming and crying if any were clumsy enough to fall and scrape their knees. Of course in between that time a random guy down-on-his luck could nab his wallet, pin, watch or...

"How stupid do you have to be to lounge around in public? You wanna get robbed, or worse?"

Gintoki's face scrunched up reflexively as if hot breath scattered across his face. The voice echoing above his head certainly sent unwarranted chills down his bleeding back but he wasn't at all frustrated by the interruption. Wide awake, eyes still closed as though he was still fully intent on falling asleep, but not antsy or mad. His eyebrows furrowed but his mouth curved into a smirk. He snorted.

"How dickish do you have to be to interrupt a man's slumber? Even if he is in public. But how kind of you to be so worried".

"You're so full of yourself - Like hell I'd be worried about a punk like you".

"Again with the attitude...".

Smiling from ear to ear, Gintoki opened his eyes carefully to avoid any chances of being hit directly by the sunlight. A dome of shade covered up the sky and loomed above ominously. Sparkling eyes had narrowed themselves downward, at him, glaring.

Reeked of cigarettes too...

"How's it going, Hijikata-kun?"

Hijikata's mood noticeably twisted having come across Gintoki again in a casual state of mind that had really began to set him off for now apparent reason. At least he wasn't exactly fully aware of the reasons himself. All he knew was that growing accustomed to Gintoki's smug face was no easy feat. His irritation towards such uncouth behaviour could only be taken so far before bags began to form underneath his eyes.

"I'm not sure how to answer that".

"I guess not...". Gintoki sighed, rolling over onto his ribcage, elbow propped up as leverage to hold his head. "Man you look intense. Get demoted?"

"No, I'm busy with work while you, on the other hand, are making a nuisance of yourself". Hijikata brought himself to one side, resting against his own spot of steel; a streetlamp standing far above the bench. Holding back the urge to pull out yet another cigarette was an ordeal - A test of self-control. "The way you're acting now it seems like I don't need your assistance anymore. I have my information".

"That so?" Gintoki smirked, rolling around onto his back again once the bench's thick curves dug painfully into his ribs after five seconds of rest.

"Yeah. You...You were right about Yamamoto - I'll give you that but-".

"Huh? How far behind are you on this investigation? I told you about Yamamoto already, remember? I'm talking about Fujita".

"Hu-...Huh?! Wait, how do you know about him already?!"

Hijikata didn't let the relaxed and well-rested charade last for five fucking minutes. All because Gintoki was neck-and-neck with him in his investigation, implying that it really had turned into a race between children trapped in the head's of two fully grown adults.

"I have my sources". Gintoki replied, eyes blinking softly. The afternoon sun arose among the clouds, and wide-spread droplets of rain began to fall.

"That's too vague of an answer. How did you find out without carrying any of Watanabe's files?"

"I feel like if I tell you, you'll arrest me again".

"I'm not that arrogant. Now, spit it out. How did you find out about Fujita?"

Gintoki ended up distracted by the rain. The "drizzle", to put it accurately. A drop had fallen upon his cheek, leaving a moist spot to fall further when he sat up to catch and wipe it away.

"I...got in contact with the person who stole Watanabe's address book".

"...". Hijikata refrained from acting eager or overly-interested, for professional reasons. Honestly it hurt to know that he was at least listening to Gintoki beforehand. Making a quick, thoughtless judgement to Gintoki's testimonies could prove to be idiotic in the future.

"I don't know where they've run off to now, and I couldn't get a hold of the book. They said they had their own business to take care of, but left me with an address: The Bronze Picture House in Shibuya. You know where that is?"

"I'll look into it, but I need to know for sure...Is that the absolute truth?" Was Hijikata's follow-up, so not much had changed. The man lived and breathed on the tips of his toes, furrowing his brow at every vague, unreliable testimony or source. Gintoki was no absolutely no exception.

He was aware that asking bluntly wouldn't get him anywhere, but if he could only read Gintoki's expression and determine where to go from there...

Gintoki didn't know whether to find respect in Hijikata's zealous need to suspect him or roll his eyes out of pure, grinding annoyance. He chose neither. A straight, still expression suited him well when under pressure.

"...I know you don't wanna hear this, and I feel sick saying it, but you can trust me".

"I'm not sure about that".

"That's perfectly fine. Listen I've already got a guy scouting ahead on the scene. Y'know, 'cause a well-dressed guy wearing a family crest isn't exactly welcomed, especially if the guy I'm trying to approach is tangled up in a turf war between loan sharks and my boss".

"You're still going out on your own?"

"I kinda have to. I can't let the cops take all the credit for shutting these guys down, otherwise one, or all, of my bosses are gonna kill me. I need to snatch something from Yamamoto's office, if not his body, to prove myself. Takasugi's not gonna settle for my word if the Shinsengumi end up on the news tomorrow morning".

Raindrops fell quicker now. Cold spots appeared over the fabric covering their shoulders and legs. Hijikata stood there, silently taking in the downpour, unfazed by the cold splashes smacking his skin. Dazed, he stared at the grin lining Gintoki's lips, and observed his carefree demeanour curiously. He spoke of his situation with a light-hearted tinge in his voice and within the sparkle of his eyes. That's what caught Hijikata off-guard. Taking a quick glance upward soon persuaded Hijikata to make up his mind and end this discussion as soon as possible.

"Fine," He muttered. "I'll look up this Goro Fujita before doing anything rash. Shouldn't take too long. Maybe a couple hours".

"Suit yourself. I'm getting tired of your face anyway, so you'd better get out of here already".

"Right back at you, Yaksha".

Forcing a goodbye was unnecessary. A genuine one even more so. Gintoki left Hijikata to walk down his own path, nearly regretting giving him the name of the theatre where Fujita, and maybe Yamamoto, was hold up in. Being in enough trouble already, he failed to see a positive outcome by keeping that information secret from a cop who was already on his ass, from the moment they first met to the present. Fighting back and provoking an argument out of every coincidental meeting was tiring. So, like civil men, Gintoki left Hijikata to his job and vice versa.

"Hey, Yaksha?" From the corner of his eye, Gintoki spotted Hijikata stopping mere inches away - Ignoring the heavy shower of rain that would follow behind the drizzle any minute now.

"Hm? What is it now?"

"Just out of curiosity, how bad are things up there? With you, your people, your job...It must be difficult to keep up appearances".

Since when was a cop interested in the daily turmoil of the yakuza? Never, until Hijikata decided to open his mouth. He took a leap by being so bold, crossing a line that no other cop had ever crossed before. It may sound dramatic but the connections between the law and the organised crime syndicates was nothing short of chaotic. Hearing Hijikata's voice peak at the tone of his question, watching him stop with his very own eyes, came across as being very peculiar. Almost insane. Gintoki took his time before answering, wallowing in disbelieving silence.

"Depending how I handle the loan sharks...". He took on a shaky start, but he was confident enough to carry on. "It could get pretty dicey. Pretty damn scary sometimes when it comes to the other Lieutenants. It's not even about appearances, it's...It's my life. I'm a prisoner in my own line of work, and the only way to receive privileges is if you do your job right. But at some point you've got to stop worrying about it altogether. As hard as it is most of the time, we look out for each other. Or try to, anyway".

An answer like that was quite heavy, in it's simplest form...It struck a cord with Hijikata. Made him waver but he didn't quite react in a way that Gintoki expected.

"...". He nodded rather than expressing sympathy, contempt, pity or otherwise. Whatever he was thinking, Gintoki couldn't possibly understand when his only clue was a look of apathy.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't". Hijikata responded rather coldly. Surprisingly his heart wasn't in the right place to sound as apathetic as he wanted to. "It's none of my business really, so maybe I shouldn't have asked. I...should be going now; I've got work to do".

"You know we'll run into each other again, right?" That statement in mind, walking separate ways had become a complete waste of time, funnily enough. Gintoki thought so anyway.

"Don't need to remind me". As did Hijikata. "No one said we have to get in each other's way, so if we happen to meet again...There's no rule saying we have to interact".

"...That's fine by me. We'd end up fighting anyway".

Exactly right, Hijikata thought to himself, all the while he treaded down his own path, more or less in the direction from which he came. In the distance he expected to hear an aloof farewell that cut through the rain. Gintoki didn't bother for the very reason he stated mere seconds ago. Bumping into each other was inevitable at this point. Very tiresome to boot. So what was the point of complaining over and over?

Leave each other to your own business - Try not to get wrapped up in a time-wasting argument. Keeping their grievances to themselves was only going to be easy if neither man got in the other's way. The fact that Gintoki was on the same footing as Hijikata was infuriating but there was absolutely nothing he could say or do about it now. And that was final. Then again it was like they lost all energy and interest in putting up a fuss. And what a joy it was to be this tired during the afternoon when there was still so much work to do.

For as long as this Yamamoto guy kept himself buried under a heap of witnesses, sticking their necks outs for him, the longer this day would drag on. The rainstorm had only just begun too...

"Well...". Gintoki raised himself up off the bench, stretching his arms behind his head. "Back to work...".

 

6

A heavy shower wasn't televised or published in any of the forecasts today. An unpredictable storm meant Takasugi strived to reach the most familiar, most private, most convenient shelter available during the late afternoon. He arrived at the usual lounge bar, hidden away from the public's eye, with wet shoulders and flushed cheeks from the sudden gust of cold sweeping the streets. The very peak of the afternoon left the place open and empty for a few hours before other businessmen ran their discreet and scandalous little meetings in every available dark corner. He sat alone at first, drinking, waiting, not only for the storm to turn over, but for the arrival of a particular report.

The barman kindly served him sake; Ginjo-shu to be exact, a drink that suited his tastes perfectly. Something potent, but delicate. Not enough to lose himself before proceeding with mountains of work that had piled up over the course of the day. Or what was left of it. The kind, unnamed barman permitted him to light his _kiseru_ and smoke away at his own pleasure. Something about Takasugi's out-of-character hesitance to do as he pleased was unusual to the bartender. Having apparently spent a decade of his life serving drinks and courtesy to dangerous men in high places encouraged him to pay close attention to the point where it was downright creepy - Especially when added onto the wry smile and perked-up tone he put on.

So Takasugi ceased striking his heel rapidly against the floorboards and instead took out his boredom on his lungs, preparing a smoke, and having the bartender light it, like always.

Indeed he drifted into a completely different room in his mind hence why he didn't think to light the damn thing and get lost in the fog of tobacco. He had drifted somewhere clean and unaffected by the distinct aroma of sweetened alcohol and the smoke now drifting from his kiseru in hand. After recent events, after certain issues had come to light, he had plenty to think about - But not in worry, but out of a professional interest and a child-like curiosity to tread into further dangers. And what other dangers could there possibly be?

The rain's echo entered the room as quickly as it left when the door hidden in the corner opened subtly, without so much as a creak. What alerted the barman and Takasugi was the small bell hanging above the door's edge. It rang pleasantly when a new customer entered the room out of the rain.

"Welcome, sir". The barman offered the rehearsed, polite greeting, and bowed respectfully. Takasugi didn't turn around, thinking it would be unnecessary, knowing that there would be only one other visitor arriving during this time. "I assume you're here for the meeting".

"Yes, thank you. I'll just have a neat whiskey".

"Coming right up. If you'll have a seat, I'll get out of your way".

Takasugi raised his head from his cup when the arrival sat down on the barstool next to him. Broad shoulders and eccentric hair damp from the storm, headphones hanging around his neck, Bansai brushed off the cold, perfectly relaxed and focused as always. The bartender served him a stump glass without ice, and poured the drink from a tall bottle labelled as a _Yamazaki_ brand, roughly thirteen years old. The scent was distinct and strong. Bansai never discussed his tastes (and that included almost every other pleasure), but as Takasugi saw it the strong stuff suited him just fine.

Bowing once more, the bartender slid to the other end of the bar, "out of their way", like he said.

"I assume your job is done for the time being". Takasugi chuckled quietly, sipping his drink.

"It is, I daresay. It didn't take too long, but I think I've gathered all I need to. Ah, here, I found these items on his person. I'm sure you'll be more than happy to see what secrets Daichi kept from you".

From underneath the bar, Bansai clutched the palm of Takasugi's hand, placing one or two small items, wrapped up in cloth, inside his fist before carefully letting go. Takasugi grasped them, staring down at the contents, soon smirking with a joyful, pleasant disbelief. Bansai had uncovered a small, familiar-looking pin, marked by a family crest hidden behind scratches clearly caused by years of careless drinking and bumping around, and a switch army knife with the carving of unfamiliar initials indicating that it was in fact a gift.

"Whoever was pulling the strings was clever, but not clever enough". Takasugi commented, smirking, once again sipping from the tiny sake cup. "Whoever swayed Daichi, and most likely Matsumoto as well, with cash or positions of power has no idea how to be discreet, or who to trust".

"So what does this mean for us exactly?" Bansai didn't sound too worried. Hell, the guy couldn't truly fathom the sensation of concern or worry. He was straight-faced at all times. Serious and yet callous when it came down to sticking his foot in the enemies face, for the sake of a certain someone.

"It means I made a minor mistake. But, then again, nothing changes. If anything, I took a gamble. They knew what they were getting themselves into, as well as the risks, so I say we're untouchable...For the time being".

"And yet you seem quite pleased".

"Pleased? I'm ecstatic, Bansai. It's been years since the yakuza was involved in scandals involving turf and money, so I'd say we've stumbled across a real gem. Just the kind of entertainment I need to keep me distracted for a while. Work has been frightfully boring as of late, and Hibiki is causing me just as much trouble".

"You never change, do you?"

"Nope. This should be fun. That is, if this third party who hired Daichi, and maybe Matsumoto, act on their own foolish mistake and decide to attack us".

"What I'm wondering is how they managed to make such a blunder. It's unexpected...Almost bizarre enough to be unreal".

"I can't be sure about all the details right now, but I'm positive that they greatly underestimated me and my family".

"Clearly". Bansai muttered, possibly hiding a curve in his lips behind the rim of a whiskey glass.

"And now they'll either learn from their blunder and act on it or allow the situation to die over time".

"What do you think we should do in the meantime?"

"Send them a harmless message. Nothing more than that".

"You say harmless but...".

In the yakuza, nothing was ever truly harmless. That was fact, not superstition. What remained unpredictable was their actions. Takasugi's in particular. He didn't simply strive for shock factor. The man was crazy enough to act seriously.

"...We should wait for Zura to return before doing anything rash. There's no telling whether Matsumoto was in on it or not, so we'll have him return with a full report. In his position, however, I doubt he can escape with Matsumoto in a pair of shackles. Not while he's alone".

"I see. I'll try to contact him as soon as possible. I doubt he's attempted anything too idiotic just yet, so it's likely he hasn't gotten himself killed yet".

"...And what of Gintoki?"

"He called the office a couple hours ago, asking for information on a Kenta Yamamoto".

"Can't say I've heard of him. He could be our loan shark spearhead".

"That's what I suspected too".

"I suppose it couldn't hurt to look into him on our end. We have to be thorough here, especially in this instance".

"Very good, Shinsuke".

Like a child stealing the advantage in a game, Takasugi smiled menacingly. Never had he expressed this impish persona - This was the first time in a number of years. He was pleased, strangely so when the circumstances had turned against him. Now knowing that there was a greater significance to the loan sharks than just a group of violent money-grabbing thugs left him in awe and wonder as he thought out his next move. Even if he had to sit back, do nothing, and watch the city's peace burn, he was glad that his boring routine could be scrapped and replaced with some light entertainment.

Quite a perverted way of thinking...Even for a mafia boss.

7

Heavy downpours had carried onto Shibuya and perhaps the Tokyo regions beyond that, as Gintoki witnessed through passenger car windows. Not a single ray of sunlight dawned on the clouds. It bothered him to have misjudged the weather so carelessly, despite the sudden change in forecasts never crossing his mind. After all work kept him far away from home, the television, and thus the cute weather reporter showing off her various skirts and ribbons tied stylishly around her neck.

For the rest of the train ride he slumped in his seat. Legs spread out comfortably in a way that would distract most of the other passengers, his mind reached out to new impatient, irritated heights of thought that more or less begrudged him to finish work already and be done with Takasugi's demands for the day. Home wasn't too far away. Knowing warm fluffed-up slippers and convenience store bento boxes were waiting was his drive. Of all the laziest motivations in his life...

Civilians as forgettable as the storm soon to past crowded the platforms and stairwells leading out of the station. A hot, humid heap of bodies had Gintoki pushing past only to enter the shower uncovered. Thunder boomed from overhead. Standing overhead the concrete stairwell was a convenient overhang, crowded until overflowing with people waiting for a taxi cab, or the bus, or for the storm to cease, like everyone else floating around without umbrellas. Who knew the weather would take such a dramatic turn so early in the month. The quake of thunder sent Gintoki under the safety of steel plates and signs. Back among the crowds who's voices echoed relentlessly in his ears.

Walking alongside the walls lining the streets, Gintoki removed the photographs from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Each one depicted various shots of the theatre hidden among Shibuya's shadows. Among the fog of the downpour a place like this was a blind spot; clouded and fuzzy to the eyes. Hasegawa had returned to Gintoki without a scratch which turned out to be quite the feat if big, brooding men were indeed guarding this place.

According to his testimony, this Fujita guy, or anyone else for that matter, was nowhere to be seen. All he had going for him was a few small windows in order to take a peek inside. What he discovered was empty boxes of red velvet and mahogany frames of wood. No security, no bigwigs in suits. Knowing that now Gintoki wondered if this theatre was even a legally bought property or a temporary hideout for the loan shark boss and his band of thugs to skulk around in every once in a while.

Gintoki took a gander around Shibuya. After one or two work-oriented visits to an office or bar he knew where he was going most of the time. Street signs and roads shown in every photograph dragged Gintoki around to a side of the district that was less populated and shady. His eyes shifted back and forth from the up-front shot of the theatre, formally titled, _"The Bronze Picture House"_ , as well as the small buildings built around it, to the streets lined up in front of him.

Eventually he arrived at a narrow turn that caught his eye. What encouraged him to stop and take in the fact that he had come to the right place was seeing the patrol car parked a few dozen feet away from the _Bronze_. As foggy as the scenery turned out to be Gintoki could just about squint his eyes to make out the figures of two police officers waiting around inside the vehicle. The closer he walked towards his destination he didn't recognise either of them. That wasn't exactly a good sign, whether Toushirou Hijikata had driven out with them or not, so Gintoki made a mental note reminding him to be far more cautious from here on out.

Avoiding their gazes, as they both seemed distracted in their own private, inaudible discussion, Gintoki slid himself into the square dip of the front doors behind a ticket booth. Bronze, as a title, was fitting; judging by the layers of rust spread across the booth's metal framed window and the hinges lining the entrance itself, as well as the chipped paint scarring the door's faces. Dirty and unkempt. Unorganised and unorthodox in appearance with nearly no purpose for being in such a grand district.

Due to their condition the front doors opened with a disruptive creaking noise that would wake a rock from its slumber. Gintoki felt the chill in the air, drenched from head to toe, but otherwise indifferent and glad to have found the place when he did. Unfortunately he wasn't alone. From the moment this case began, he wasn't allowed to be left alone.

The receptionist desk, decorated with a little bell and newspapers that gave off a foul, but distinct, stench through age and neglect, was currently unoccupied. Hijikata spent some time cruising around the main entrance to pace around, hands squeezing his hips, waiting for something unbeknownst to Gintoki who had literally just made an appearance. How long had he been waiting to end up looking like a customer denied of service?

"Even for such an unrefined guy, you still know how to be polite with the enemy, huh?" Pushing back the soaked bangs of his hair, Gintoki smirked again - Like it had come naturally to him after crossing Hijikata's path so many times; It had become a practical joke.

"I knew you'd show up sooner or later". Hijikata stopped to comment, unabashed and frankly unaffected by this predictable meeting.

"Were you waiting for me or something?"

"You're running your mouth off again, Yaksha. Why would I wait for you? I'm waiting to see the manager of this place. Goro Fujita".

Hijikata waved a thin pile of papers in the air. Documents that looked like newspaper clippings neatly cut out from the pages.

"He opened this theatre five years ago for private auctions - Antiques, paintings, etc. The place went bankrupt when one of his acquaintance's donated a stolen glass dove, and it's original owners sued Fujita for liable. See? I told you I could find him without you".

"Impressive. I was looking for the guy's address, expecting to kick down his door, but here you are. How'd you get in?"

"The front door was open. Uh, the lock's busted, so it was breakable anyway. I'm not as destructive as you are, remember?"

Apparently vandalising private property was unthinkable, but the average thug stirring up a helluva storm in public automatically deemed him as Hijikata's punching bag for misconduct and exposing his underwear slightly above his tattered jeans. Made perfect sense. Gintoki walked further into the room, comfortable and conscious of the silence beyond the two double-doors behind the reception desk. Removing his soaked suit jacket got it out of the way and over his shoulder.

"In that case, if he's not here, you have the perfect opportunity to snoop around for more clues".

"I would have tried that already, but snooping around without a warrant isn't in my jurisdiction. At least not for Matsudaira".

"It's certainly in mine. Watch".

Jimmying one of the doors roughly loosened the hinges until they were close to falling apart. Incidentally the doors were pushed wide open and would most likely never close properly ever again. A long, long hallway, covered by a dusty red carpet, led out into a much bigger room, guiding them to the stage which lay empty and unclean. Like the rest of the place. Due to the gloomy skies outside the whole area was shed in darkness. Almost pitch black if not for the weak rays of natural light gleaming through the ceiling's windows.

Gintoki swiftly and eagerly turned around. Hijikata was now right behind him, perhaps acting on his own curious tendencies.

"See, I'm just a dirty trespasser, and you're the cop who caught me red-handed. In doing so, you so happened to come across evidence against Fujita and the loan sharks he's helping. Maybe records, an address...".

"I could get demoted, or worse, you know". In no way did he sound too bothered by that. Hijikata was more or less stating a fact rather than complaining or preaching about Gintoki unlawful choices.

"Then do whatever you like. But I think, as a cop, you could get a lot more done if you play detective for a bit. But don't take my word for it - You're on your own man".

Gintoki proceeded confidently into the back room, leaving the doors open in his wake so that Hijikata could meekly peer into the darkness and lose sight of his rival, if he chose to stubbornly stay put in the end. That would indeed mean reaching a moot point in his investigation.

"...".

Curiosity carried him onward. From his utility belt he grabbed a handy-dandy flashlight before stumbling blindly into unmarked territory. The crude, white ray of light shone across the dim floors, touching the muddy cuffs of Gintoki's legs as he wandered onward in his own absent state of mind. Glass panes creaked and the wind whistled through the thin cracks of their frames from up above. Dust filled the area like a thick and spiteful gas sealed off away from the vents or windows.

For a theatre the main showing area lacked a great number of threadbare seats with rock-hard, uncomfortable armrests. There lay an empty floor, stripped of said chairs, and instead left with odd boxes and screws strewn across the golden brown floorboards. Damp had seeped into the walls, giving off a foul stench of rot and the chemicals mixed to make paint...Only older and unclean.

"Doesn't look like there's much here". Gintoki said, coughing shortly after. "There-...There's definitely a second floor. All we've gotta do is find the entrance".

"Let's look backstage. And arm yourself, because I detest the thought of getting jumped".

"If it'll make you feel better, Princess".

The precarious wooden sword hanging from Gintoki's own, practically bare, belt suddenly didn't matter as much as the revolver hidden away in his suit pocket. Hijikata didn't question it or argue with him about concealing such a weapon without him knowing. He certainly didn't have it on him when he was arrested. In such ominous circumstances, a ranged weapon of defence was far better than having to get in close quarters with whoever was waiting to jump out at them with a gun of their own, or a stage lamp, or any blunt, metal object that could be used as a weapon.

Backstage was much darker than the audience area. No silhouettes lurked behind the curtains or the junk pile of musical instruments hiding a bulky desk and spokesperson podium, but the place continued to feel eerie for as long as the silence dragged out like a nagging ringing noise in their ears. Like Hijikata had predicted, a narrow doorway lay beyond backstage, beneath a very small three-step stairwell, behind a dusty, navy blue curtain.

Flashlight in hand, Hijikata walked on ahead without question and certainly without a single argument spouting from Gintoki's mouth. They treaded carefully. Every slow, painful creak beneath their feet had Hijikata pausing every now and then to listen intently to the wind and the floorboards above.

Silence...Complete and utter silence...

The banisters lining the walls were in reach, thus Gintoki held on tightly, the both of them refusing to say a single word out loud nor within the safety of their own minds. Dust covered Gintoki's palm, while Hijikata's began to sweat from grasping two handles at the same time tightly. Grey fog floated idly into the space in front of them when unconsciously swiping away the grey particles from the wood. Gintoki's hand found the wall and never left it until they reached the very top of the staircase when they entered yet another box of pitch black darkness and gloom.

There remained a sheen glimmering from a mirror, of all things, which reflected some edged objects around the room. Upon stopping to count, there were in fact six round mirrors covering either wall. Each one sat atop a set of drawers; painted hot pink. Surprisingly, the paint job was unscathed, unlike the rest of the place. Round bulbs surrounded each reflection. Not one of them appeared to be functioning, but none looked broken or damaged. Empty racks holding empty clothes hangers sat in the corner. Fresh paint marks had been slathered on the walls, three different colours painted in a line, as though the owner was testing all three shades.

"Something tells me this theatre wasn't only used for auctions". Gintoki turned around three-hundred-and-sixty degrees to get a good look at the whole room, every inch of it. He didn't stop until he was facing the exact same mirror again.

"Hm...". Hijikata neither agreed nor disagreed. He stood back and observed quietly, soon eyeing the door standing closed in the corner of the room.

He pointed his flashlight at the new entranceway, as well as cautiously aiming the barrel of his gun in the same direction.

"You intending to kill anyone with that?" Gintoki whispered, holding his gun down between his legs with the least intent to fire.

"Not kill; disarm...If it's necessary anyway. Now, that door over there...Stick to the wall, and when I give the word, we burst in and-".

"Wait, wait, wait. I wanted to do that in the first place, but since when do you give me orders?"

"I-...I don't. Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page".

"Well we are...".Gintoki muttered, the grip on his gun looser than before - Something he didn't take much notice of until Hijikata gave him the go-ahead on this surprise attack.

"Good. That's, uh...Ahem! Right, I'll go first. Get ready".

Either side of the door was covered by a body. Both men clutched their guns, keeping their fingers at a short, in-reach distance of the trigger. Looking each other in the eyes, like never before, they each gave a conformation nod. The doorknob was much closer to Hijikata so it was only right for him to take the brass lead on this one. Without taking it off its hinges completely, he swiftly threw his foot against the wood, bursting the door open. Remaining in cover, though cautiously peering his head out, Hijikata pointed the barrel of his weapon inside, alongside Gintoki who took the same safety-conscious measures.

To their unwitting surprise the room was uninhabited. Very still and lifeless like the rest of the place. Gintoki strapped his gun back into its holster. He decided to stop pausing or second-guessing the risks that could have been waiting for them once it became very clear that this entire hall was abandoned. Currently abandoned, anyway. More or less neglected and misused.

"Yamamoto's definitely not here...". Gintoki commented, immediately going for the desk situated in the very core of this dark, unsightly room. "Guess we can look around for clues then".

Hijikata let one of his hands go free, sliding the weapon into his own holster. It would never be out of reach, so he doubted either of them would leave this place bandaged up or in a body bag.

"Doesn't mean this place is completely abandoned".

For a place like this to be neglected and unkempt, the office was surprisingly well-managed, aside from the odd boxes piled up at its centre to collect more dust. There wasn't a single curtain or set of shutters hanging over either of the two windows. Open to the sky, it seemed like someone was still working here in private, even when the power was shut off and the customers were non-existent.

Since Gintoki assertively occupied the desk and the other drawers in his reach, Hijikata eyed the filing cabinets. Shutting the door, first and foremost, was the most effective way of staying alert. If anyone happened to return to this place with a weapon at the ready, the two men waiting on the other side would be just as prepared. Hijikata collected a few dozen stacks of files in his arms, one compartment at a time, and idly skimmed through each page with the flashlight's glow bouncing off every bold passage.

Fujita kept his share of legal documents safe, as well as some old letters, rotted at the corners from the damp collecting itself in the air. The smell of old paper was putrid, but Hijikata pressed on through the important, even interesting, documents. Old letters describing antiques, renovation notices and paperwork, had been signed by Yamamoto himself. No doubt they were in the right place, but looking for yet another address or significant name was like digging through a dozen haystacks to find a single needle.

"I guess this explains the lack of seating downstairs...". Hijikata muttered.

"Whazzat?" Gintoki asked, digging through his own set of drawers, only to come to another disappointing dead end.

"Seems like Fujita is planning to open this place back up again. But for what exactly? More auctions?"

"Who knows. But it is weird, isn't it? For a black market auctioneer to be working with loan sharks". Gintoki grew rather quiet. Crouched under the desk, facing the lowest level of drawers, his face was impossible to read. But his voice...

"Yaksha, what...".

"Hijikata, listen to me. I don't have any substantial evidence right now, but I think I might know who-...!".

An abrupt, echoing creak emitted from the outside. It was so sudden that both Hijikata and Gintoki were struck in a frozen pose, unable to move or breathe until they heard the distinct tone of a male voice...Two males voices...No...Three? All booming, no matter how quiet they thought they were being. All treading upstairs with ease with every whine in the floorboards growing louder.

"Shit...!" Hijikata hissed in a low whisper. No other expression came to mind during the panic.

He ducked behind the broad boxes that was the filing cabinets, almost cradling his arms and torso together just to keep himself out of sight from the door in the corner, of the opposite side of where he was hiding. For the love of God he hoped he was out of sight. Gintoki had the very same idea knocking round his skull and went for the space under the desk. Though his cover was broader it could have been as obvious to either man standing right outside the office as it would be to a child playing hide and seek in a house with a study.

As long as they weren't aware of intruders, Gintoki and Hijikata were sitting ducks in the safe zone.

That is unless they noticed the patrol car sitting several feet away from the theatre.

Hijikata pulled out his gun again, holding it close to his chest. Panicking and cursing away like a lunatic was the last plan on his mind. Anxiety was a necessary tool of survival. Everything else in this room as a tool was useless. Again, Gintoki was out of sight. Completely out of his reach to pass on signals to haul ass or point their guns simultaneously at these men who were most likely brandishing their own firearms. Utterly useless. They were facing a goddamn walking minefield.

Footsteps drew closer, thudding against the old, worn floorboards. The noise couldn't have been as loud as Hijikata interpreted as this tinge of anxiety made it out to be. Preparing himself was the priority now. So he made and effort to hold his breath to calm himself, to wait for the thunder to come in at full force. The door creaked. Two voices entered the room, both audible and telling with every word.

"That guy's super fuckin' strange, you know that?"

"Not so loud, Uma-san - He'll hear you".

One voice was rough and roguish. Not at all refined and proper. The other was small and softly-spoken. Wimpy to some extent...

"I'm not scared of him, unlike you. Bein' around him as long as I have, ya get used to the cold stare and silence. It doesn't...effect ya as much, so keep that double chin of yours up a while longer. Ya still got the car keys? The boss is expectin' us".

"They're in my desk". Prickling chills scurried up from the base of Hijikata's spine to his neck. The grip he had on his weapon clutched tighter.

"Then fetch 'em. I'll wait outside".

Two separate sets of footsteps parted. Only one drew closer into the room, towards the desk. If he wasn't going to find Gintoki, he'd find Hijikata without a doubt, hiding away in plain sight once he got close enough to turn the corner of the desk. So instead of panicking, letting the cold drops of sweat chill him to the bone, he embraced his nerves like a secondary weapon. A device to keep his hand steady and his mind focused.

A large, dark shadow cast itself over the dim rays of light covering the floor...

Hijikata could feel - listen to - the hard, uncontrollable thumping of his heart. For as long as he could remember, an adrenaline rush like this seemed so extreme in comparison to years of S.W.A.T team raids and hostage situations. It wasn't necessarily excitement or fear, but knowing that he was in danger and had to pull all his senses together to survive, even if the rush invoked a heart-attack and killed him right there after the battle had been won. Something so unrealistically dramatic was never bound to happen of course. Not until he was an old man striving to keep a hold of his badge.

Flashes of rain and thunder attracted him to the man vastly approaching the desk where Gintoki currently hid. Hijikata watched the stubby man approach closer while carrying a gun holster that didn't suit him too well. And that showed when he took a glance at the strange man hiding behind his filing cabinets, holding a pistol, eyes drained of fear but all the more weary and grim.

"Wh-what the-...?!" He panicked, immediately reaching for his gun without a second thought. Whoever gave him a toy like that was out of their mind.

Pulling himself out from cover immediately, falling to one knee, Hijikata pointed the barrel at the man, intending to disarm him...Not kill him.

"Drop it". He remarked, firmly, but refrained from yelling. "Drop it now".

He didn't. The assailant firmly held on to his weapon, though hesitated to fire it, perhaps because he was afraid. Especially when he caught wind of the uniform and the face.

"Y-you're-..." He was panicking, clenching his teeth, shutting his eyes stupidly while his finger rested on the gun's curved trigger. "...!"

Caught by surprise, the man flinched when yet another stranger appeared before his feet, out of nowhere. This time from under the desk, falling flat on his back with a revolver in hand. Eyes piercing from his own course of adrenaline, Gintoki cried out to the ceiling when it was even clear to him that an idiot with a gun is the worst enemy of all.

"He said drop it!"

Gintoki fired once, intending to shoot for the ceiling. Not before it drilled straight through his target's arm, inducing an earth-shattering scream before falling to the wall, dropping his weapon when his hand could no longer hold onto it. Both Gintoki and Hijikata burst out from their hiding spots. Gintoki's first initial reaction was to grab the fallen gun and pin this guy down before he made another move. In one swift motion. Brute force and quick reflexes had Gintoki holding this young idiot firmly against the wall, hands strapped against his back for good measure.

The other, shorter, slimmer thug could hear that gunshot from space. Having heard the trouble come out of nowhere he brought himself into the room and pulled out a pistol - Which was much more fitting and less embarrassing to watch.

"What the fuck?!" He was put in a position of shock. The intruders seemed to have appeared out of thin air with no explanation. Maybe he was also scared.

His intention, as it so happened, was to shoot Hijikata in the head without being given the time to recognise that he was going up against a police officer, as demonstrated by the second bang of a bullet whizzing through the air, narrowly missing Hijikata's face by a few inches. The noise penetrated Hijikata's left ear. Like a drill ripping into layer upon layer of concrete bricks.

Hijikata took his shot not a second afterwards as a reaction of self-defence. The bullet smacked the skin and bone of the thug's hand. You could hear the bone crack and split apart from the impact. Blood spurts coloured filthy spots on the floor, rendering him disarmed when his grip was forced to loosen, thereby dropping the gun. No time was taken to breathe. Hijikata dashed across the room, grabbing the second unnamed assailant roughly by the collar to throw him down onto the floor. And on the handcuffs went.

"Gintoki, here. Restrain him". Gintoki was given his own pair after steel skidded against the floors, stopping when weakly smacking the heel of his shoe.

Both injured men had been pulled down to the floor, on their bellies, disarmed and securely restrained. Quite the lucky break after coming so far.

"You alright?" Gintoki...asked, out of the blue, catching Hijikata off guard while he caught his breath.

"Hm? O-oh, fine. I'm fine...Uh, you?"

"I'm hunky-dory, thanks. Er, I'm gonna go after that third guy, if he hasn't already escaped. He ought to have heard the gunshot".

"Hurry up then. And...You know, watch your back".

Revolver at the ready, Gintoki left the office - He walked but kept a quick enough pace to reach whoever wandered the ground floor if he was brazen enough to stick around after listening to all that ruckus. The door was shut behind him, leaving Hijikata alone with two new witnesses. One of which was most definitely Goro Fujita. The other...Unnamed. Perhaps insignificant.

"So...". Hijikata began, approaching the both of them in a more comfortable state. "Do either of you mind telling me where your boss is? Kenta Yamamoto. I don't want lies, I don't want any bullshit".

"F-fuck you, pig!" The more slender man spat at the floor below him, his feet wriggling around as he struggled to stand.

"Uma - What the hell are you yapping for?! Just be quiet!" The other hissed frantically. Isn't it only common sense that the last thing a fly should do when caught in a web is wriggle around?

_Pathetic...A waste of time to even..._

["-ice-Comma-der!"] All of a sudden the radio hanging from the breast of Hijikata's jacket crackled to life. He hesitated to respond at first and simply stood there, listening to the static whir and crunch on and on before a clear signal came through. [Are you there? What happened? We heard a gunshot].

Slowly, while he thought over his next words, Hijikata grasped his radio. Only when the small red button was pressed could he answer. For two whole seconds he refrained from answering. When he did he, for a moment, struggled to believe his own words were true.

"Everything's fine. I have it under control - Just stay where you are until I give the word".

["But Vice-Captain-...!"]

"Trust me on this. Give me fifteen - twenty - minutes at the latest. I'll call in soon. Vice-Captain out".

Hijikata switched his radio off completely. Disconnected it for the time being. Thereafter he removed his jacket, dropping it gently down onto the surface of the desk. Then off came the utility belt. His mind wandered into a much darker place - Darker than he could imagine. His breathing grew unsteady for a moment before calming himself once more. As unbelievable as it may have been, the cold sensation was very familiar.

 _Sorry Kondo-san..._ He thought to himself, assured that he was stepping back into a dark place that he swore never to find ever again. _I know you wouldn't want this but...I'm tired. So tired of all this..._

_Bullshit_

 

8

Gintoki made sure he was hugging the walls on his way back down to the stage area. Not once did he drop his guard - Not until he was sure that he and Hijikata weren't at risk of being ambushed by this third party. Near to no light made the journey down almost impossible to notice a second silhouette or shadow at the bottom of the stairwell. What made things more challenging was the over-bearing sound of the rain crashing against glass panes from above, blocking out any other noises that could alert him of a second presence.

Moving at his own pace was unsuitable. Moving too quickly would the same as throwing himself into the fire without even thinking of getting burned. If he was lucky the guy would have already made an escape after hearing two gunshots. That is if he didn't trust his own men to shoot down an intruder or two. Indeed if that had crossed his mind, why hadn't he rushed upstairs to inspect the commotion? Gintoki bared his own suspicions about these men and, specifically, who they were in terms of being a threat. And for once he hoped his intuition was wrong.

As far as he could see between the frames of the doorway, there was no one in sight. Of course, right now, Gintoki was hiding far away, from behind the stage. All he could picture was pure darkness. Not a glimmer of light swayed around in a reflection or from the corner of a window. Holding onto the wall was his last shield of safety here.

Given the time to stop and think without hassle or the surprise of a gunshot he stopped and listened carefully. Listened to the rhythm of the rain, the wind, and the floorboards stretching far and wide before his feet. Closing his eyes would be suicide. So he simply opened his ears until the revelation of a slight creak against old flooring broke through. It had to eventually. And it did.

Despite the weakness of the sound, Gintoki definitely heard it - And it wasn't merely an echo inside his own head because whoever made the noise realised their own error. And, alongside Gintoki, turned up the volume with their reflexes. Leering out from behind the wall allowed Gintoki to spot an extremely small glimmer of light spin around a circular object. Like that of a gun's barrel.

Gintoki was in danger of getting shot. However he didn't throw himself into the mind-set of stress or paranoia. To him he was as calm and forward-thinking as ever. Crazy, yes, he was well-aware, but something about the gentleman hiding on the far side of the stage didn't scare Gintoki in the least.

"You probably shoulda escaped while you had the chance". Gintoki boasted confidently, holding his finger above his gun's trigger.

"I couldn't possibly". A deep, booming voice spoke to him with just as much confidence, if not with a more serious tinge to it. "Not when I need to know the faces of our intruders, for future reference. The fact that I heard you stomping down the hall upstairs gave a good enough reason to take a look".

"How did you know I'm wasn't a cop?"

"I didn't actually, so thank you for clearing that up".

"How did you guys get in here anyway?"

"There's a skinny little back entrance, hence why we avoided the attention of the patrol car outside".

This guy was strangely talkative for being the enemy. Gintoki doubted his captured counterparts were the same level as sociable, especially in their current condition.

"We've already got a hold of your buddies, so why don't you come quietly too?"

"You know that isn't going to work, right?"

"Was worth a shot. In my position, and yours, we can't exactly approach each other. I don't feel like getting shot today".

"Nor do I. How about we strike a deal? I'm rather curious...We either part ways without seeing each other's faces, or we take a few steps closer without shooting, and take a good, long look before I make my escape".

"Why do you want to do something like that?"

"I told you, I'm curious. I have my own suspicions about you, judging from that familiar voice and attitude. Also, I doubt we should return to our bosses only to disappoint them. That could end quite badly, wouldn't you say?"

As well as talkative the guy was downright strange. Insane when looking at how he spoke to Gintoki. Almost as if he predetermined that he wasn't in any danger and was instead making a game out of their current positions for the hell of it. What could a man like him do with a face anyway?

"...Yamamoto isn't your boss, is he?"

"Step forward and you might be able to find out...Shiroyasha...".

Gintoki was stuck between bafflement and pure, naked shock, for lack of a better word. The questions were overlapping each other one by one - And he knew for a fact that this guy was leading him on. Provoking him to step forward without a single worry. Still his curiosity had been peaked, dangerously so.

"Alright...You'd better put your weapon away first - I'm serious. If I get shot, I'll haunt you, you bastard".

The glimmer on the other side of the room vanished out of sight. The floorboards continued to creak; louder, footsteps quickly drawing nearer towards Gintoki's position without thinking to stop. Gintoki hid his gun behind his back. If he was definitely safe, he wouldn't need to fire it. If this was a trap, he would be ready to take the first shot.

The figure was now in his sights, tall and pale, and brooding from the head down. A silky grey suit came into full view, as did the pale, terrifyingly serious face from behind the shadows. Deathly white strands of short hair, dark circles underneath glaring, tired eyes, and a scar that had torn the side of his face. Gintoki smirked, basking in his own correctness while the moment lasted.

"It's quite interesting to finally meet you face-to-face, Shiroyasha". The man spoke once more, greeting Gintoki like any other person.

"Oh man...". Gintoki scratched the back of his head, still giddily smirking, unable to take in what he was seeing too seriously, knowing he was correct. "See, this is slightly unfair, 'cause I don't recognise you at all, man. I think I'd remember such a stern guy like you".

"You may not know me, but your boss will. Shinsuke Takasugi, right?"

"Yeah. I'm sure he'd love to hear about this. But why are the yakuza getting involved with a shabby loan shark business and a trashy little theatre?"

"I can't tell you that. And I feel as if you've asked enough questions. It's my turn".

An unexpected turn had come up at the last second. Indeed this man grew stranger and stranger the longer Gintoki dared to interact with him.

"Do you think shutting down Yamamoto will be satisfying?"

What he asked came off as vague and peculiar. Out of the blue to the point where it seemed meaningless.

"Excuse me?" Naturally Gintoki expressed his confusion and the discussion carried on from there.

"Do you think it'll leave you feeling content once you get rid of him and his men now that you know a yakuza like me is getting involved in his "shabby little business"?"

"That's a weird question...I'm not sure if I can be content with bringing down some shitlord in an office, now that I've met you. If anything you've left me wanting to ask more questions".

"That's what I thought". Such a weird guy... "Here, take this to Shinsuke Takasugi. If your description of me isn't enough, this should certainly clear up his suspicions".

The stranger's belt carried a little square pouch - An unusual thing to see on a man wearing a fine suit when he could own all the man bags he desired. From it he removed a single black feather. Grasping Gintoki's wrist without ill-intend to bruise it, he placed said feather in the palm of his hand. A token with a hidden meaning that only Takasugi would know of.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Shiroyasha, I must give my report for today. Uma and Fujita...Are all yours. I believe we have no further use for them".

"You serious?"

"Quite. Now, to fulfil the final part of our bargain...Before you even think to fire your weapon, I shall bid you a farewell, for now. Good day".

Gintoki didn't budge. He watched the stranger drift off back into the darkness, through a hidden back exit, where he claimed to have snuck in in the first place. Taking a deep breath, Gintoki calmed himself and slid the gun back into its holster for safe keeping. In his other hand he grasped the feather. An odd symbol, one he'd never seen before passed down to...anyone, really. Takasugi would know who this guy was? How much did he know overall?

When this was all over, Gintoki had to build up a report of his very own. All he could fathom right now was the fact that he misjudged the very scale of this job from the get-go...As did the police, and Hijikata. Not that they could predict how deep the rabbit hole went just by looking at it from a distance. If the yakuza was getting themselves wrapped up in this, there must have been something else. Something Gintoki was currently missing. That somewhat irritated him...

 

9

On one side of the quiet office upstairs, there sat Fujita. On the other, this Uma guy, who continued to struggle against the handcuffs and a whole knew set of restraints; a roll of duct tape that was originally stored away inside the desk. The same drawer from which Hijikata found it also provided a tourist-style map of Shibuya. He knelt before Fujita first and foremost, his mind wavering on the ethics of his uncouth, precedent methods.

"See this map?" Hijikata held it up in front of Fujita's face, watching the sweat drip down his cheeks in waves. "You're gonna mark the exact location of Kenta Yamamoto. Then I'm gonna ask your friend over there to do the same. If you both point to completely different locations, I'll make sitting there a helluva lot more uncomfortable for you. Do we understand each other?"

"I-...I can't-".

"Fujita, don't be a moron! He's a cop - He won't do anything! So keep your fat mouth shut!"

Hijikata didn't take his eyes off of Fujita. He observed the panic flickering in his clouded eyes, how he could be on the verge of tears. The pit of his stomach ached and twisted around but he pushed himself to continue, believing that the end justifies the means no matter how uncalled for they were.

"Last chance, Fujita. Don't make this hard on yourself, or your friend over there. Now...". Hijikata placed the end of a ballpoint pen in Fujita's mouth, once again holding up the map. "Show me where Yamamoto is hiding".

Fujita squeezed his eyes shut, hesitating, although visibly terrified to do so. Unable to speak he shook his head frantically. Hijikata's mood dropped. Sighing, breaking his gaze, he reached behind Fujita's back. There was no time for him to hesitate when he had already come so far into the deep end. Holding his breath between relaxed lips Hijikata dug his little finger into the bleeding wound of Goro Fujita's wrist. Not enough to push the bullet out and progress the blood flow. Just enough to cause an excruciating amount of pain that seeped into his skin and scorched the muscles.

The noises that followed were animalistic and extremely dramatic. Hijikata understood exactly what he was doing but refused to stop until he saw fit.

"H-holy shit, man!" Uma, who could barely see past Hijikata's back, cursed aloud and made his presence known once again through fear. But to no avail, Hijikata refused to listen to him. "H-hey! Cut that out! What kinda fuckin' cop are ya?! I said stop it you freak! You're gonna kill him!"

"You're gonna be next, so make your decision quickly".

At some point Hijikata had to release all the pent-up pressure he was putting on Fujita's wound. The man hadn't passed out just yet, so he was more than capable of showing Hijikata the way beforehand. Tears had flooded his eyes, showing nothing but utter defeat. To that effect, Hijikata grabbed the handkerchief sticking out of the guy's breast pocket to wipe them away.

"Are you going to show me the right way now?"

Fujita hesitated again. Only because he was slowly coming to terms with his own shock and the pain throbbing around his injury. His teeth held onto the pen as securely as he could possibly manage. Whatever strength he had left pushed him to lean in, somewhat slumping over, to shakily point the very tip of the pen onto the map. He had directed Hijikata's attention to an equally secluded area similar to the theatre's location. A building Hijikata had obviously never come across before, near Love Hotel Hill.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Hijikata lifted himself off the ground, snatching the pen from Fujita's mouth. Saliva fell from the end of the pen onto the floor, dripping even as Hijikata carried it away. Heavy breaths left Fujita, raspy and beyond exhausted. He slumped to the side, while a great deal of pain sent in - Pain that Hijikata would have to tend to later. All of this was unorthodox, ridiculous, unjustified according to any ethics guideline handbook, but he kept his wits about him and never looked back on his decisions. It was either this or yet another dead end in the mud.

Kneeling before Uma now he could see as much anxiety drifting in his gaze. He refused to open his mouth at first, but knowing what that would lead to left him with no choice. A coursing bullet wound of his very own was painful enough as it was. Anymore and he knew he would break. The pen slid between his teeth. The map was held in front of his face. He barely hesitated - Knew he couldn't afford to hear Hijikata threaten him with such a terrifyingly calm, relaxed, expression painted on his face. A monster's face...

The exact same building was revealed once more on the map. Hijikata had gotten his way even if he took the short road covered in thorns in order to get where he was now. He couldn't say he felt satisfied or happy with himself for going to such great lengths. Over the radio, when he called in his men to make an arrest, his voice didn't tremble, but he knew it didn't sound right in his own head.

When the two men from the patrol car came storming into the office seconds later. All they encountered upstairs was two men on the ground in cuffs, wounded from an act of self defence. No tape, not a word against Hijikata. Word came in that police officers had begun to drive out to Shibuya in order to surround the building where Yamamoto was hiding. Some old, small-time news office that was left out of sight from the public after it shut down two years ago. That was as much as Hijikata gathered when putting in a quick call to the station.

The Demonic Vice-Chief made his way downstairs after his comrades dragged Fujita and Uma away, caught in a daze. Gintoki was nowhere to be seen until Hijikata stumbled upon the hidden back exit. The man was standing outside, leaning against the wall in a carefree state of mind. Distant and worth questioning as to where he ran off to.

By now the storm had lifted. Grey clouds continued to drift through the sky but not a single drop of rain fell from them. The ground below was covered in sickly brown puddles that had built up inside the cracks and hollows of the earth. Neither Hijikata nor Gintoki cared less about getting wet anyway. For their own reasons their moods had already dampened.

"Yaksha, we've got what we need".

"You do?" Gintoki perked up just then. Scratching the back of his neck he pulled his focus away from whatever in order to look Hijikata in the eyes for the first time since they met each other in reception.

"Yeah. Apparently Yamamoto's hold up in a building close to Love Hotel Hill. I've called in a squad to raid the place and make a few dozen arrests. So this should all be over by tonight".

"By tonight, huh...". Gintoki drifted away again, if only slightly.

"Hey, what happened to the third guy who was downstairs?"

"Mm? Oh, he got away before I caught him. He's long-gone". Choosing to keep most of what he found out to himself was mischievous and not at all worth trusting. Except it felt wrong to leave out one, very important detail. "Turns out he was yakuza".

Not that Hijikata could do much about it at the moment.

"The yakuza are involved after all? All the more reason to finish this quickly before word reaches Yamamoto. We can't let him escape after all this".

Hijikata straighten his jacket and buttoned up the sleeves. Gintoki's eyes took a glance at his unsightly state, from the condition of his eyes to the fresh blood stain marking his shirt sleeve beneath his uniform jacket. The one Hijikata was consciously trying to hide.

"Oi, Hijikata...You look pretty exhausted. Did you have some sort of episode while you were up there or something?"

"I'll be alright. I don't need you showing me concern. Now you'll have to excuse me, I have to follow my subordinates so we can finally put this case to rest".

"Hey, lemme come with. You owe me for helping you out on three occasions already, for information and for having your back. That guy was gonna shoot you, y'know".

"I realise that. Which is why I think you should wait for a bit. Whatever it is you need to show your boss in order to prove yourself, I'll see what I can do behind the scenes. Of course I can't hand over crucial evidence, that would be stupidity. I'll see what I can dig up that's more of use to you than to me".

"You'd really do that?" Gintoki asked this as if he didn't quite believe it the first time he heard it straight from the horse's mouth. Rightly so. It's not as if Hijikata had to hang on Gintoki's every word either.

"I don't like owing debts, Yaksha. It's a major pet-peeve - And owing one or two to you is like having a tick-bite". That wasn't exactly putting it lightly. Hijikata was as on-guard and defensive as he was during the morning's interrogation. "Now, I should...".

"Hey...".

Hijikata was set on leaving post-haste. His job was - had been - the main focus this whole time so it was unlikely that he was ever intent on stopping halfway through. Despite that he froze on the spot when Gintoki took one last nudge at him for mysterious reasons that even Gintoki couldn't quite fathom at the time. He was lost in his own words for an uncounted number of seconds and could barely bring himself to come out and say whatever was lingering in his mind.

"Mind if I ask you something real quick? Not that I should be asking, or that you have to answer, but I feel like it's necessary".

Gintoki, in his head, had a hard time contemplating why he opened his mouth in the first place. As it turned out, getting the image of a roughed-up, weary-eyed, bloody police officer such as Hijikata wasn't easy. It was almost as if Gintoki was getting something off his chest by saying all of this.

"Uhm, okay. Hurry up, though, because I still have work to do".

"...Would I have ended up like them?" The very question was spontaneous. Gintoki was taken aback by his own desire to use that exact wording but taking it back was impossible.

"Excuse me?"

"With Fujita and his buddy. If you hadn't have cuffed me at the station, would I have ended up as battered and teary-eyed as them? I'm pretty scarred from that bar fight the other night, so I'm wondering if you would have made my day a living hell".

"How do you know about that?"

"The blood on your shirt cuff". Yet another reoccurring image that irked Gintoki to ask about it in the first place. He wasn't naïve. Far from it. And yet his curiosity could ultimately land him in an unmarked grave of alleyway rain puddle someday if he was brazen enough to ask all the wrong questions. "You don't get that from a simple interrogation. That must have been...hard-core".

"...". Hijikata paused, refraining from responding right away. There was no indication that he was afraid of being found out by his superiors, knowing Gintoki wasn't a tattle-tale. "And yet you're smirking".

"I'm surprised, that's all. I'd be impressed if it wasn't so fucked-up. I don't even blame you that much...Just wanna know why you went with the short road of...torture? Whatever word makes you feel better - Instead of taking your time in an interrogation room, like with me. Obviously you didn't do it for sport".

"No, of course not. I...Look, I don't expect anyone to excuse my actions - Not even you. There is no excuse for making someone bleed for information. I was just...so tired. Tired of all the needless bullshit, the waiting, the dead ends. I crossed the line because it was the quickest way to put this god-forsaken case to rest".

"Sounds frustrating".

"Like you wouldn't believe. You, and many others, are free to think of me as a monster or bogeyman through my actions. But, personally, I don't think I've crossed that line just yet".

"What do you think counts as "crossing the line", hm?"

"I'll know when it happens. Like murdering a criminal, in self-defence or not. I'll know when I've crossed the line, and then...I guess I'll have to bear that cross as a monster. No excuses".

"...".

Gintoki couldn't find anything more to say, especially to that. It was a heavy subject, coming from two men who had powered-through and survived life-changing situations that, in the end, brought out the worst in them. Gintoki couldn't exactly look down at Hijikata for his actions in the theatre, whatever they were, knowing he wasn't any better. As depressing and realistically dark as it was it felt like they shared a connection for a little while. Gintoki wasn't sure how to accept that, so he didn't say anything about it at all. Neither did Hijikata - But Hell if Gintoki knew what that guy was thinking.

"Anyway...". Hijikata cleared his throat. Back to the subject at hand..."I'd stay at your own place for a while".

"My apartment?"

"Yeah. Wait there for tonight, and...I'll see you eventually. That's all. See you soon, Yaksha".

"...".

Hijikata drifted off on his own again. Down the path, out of the alleyway to join his team in order to close the case of the loan sharks "once and for all". Sounded cheesy and incorrect to say that so cleanly. In the end Gintoki had no choice but to sit and stay put. Following Hijikata and stumbling onto a crime scene could only get him arrested again for possibly contaminating evidence or disrupting the rest of the investigation by being a nuisance. He trusted Hijikata's word to bring him back a souvenir of sorts. By this point it wasn't a huge gamble to believe in Hijikata. Was that strange? And why was that suddenly the case after all the cat and mouse bullshit?

He didn't know. Or, more accurately, he wasn't quite sure how to process all that, including the weird moment of peace they had shared this entire time.

 

10

"Katsura-san, I'll be heading home for the night. Can I trust you to lock up?"

"Hm? Yes, of course. I'm almost finished here anyway, so I won't be far behind you".

After only one day the workload had already began to blur together. Paperwork looked all too similar and the silence was deafening. Katsura did not lose focus, though. The anxiety wore thin eventually. It had to for this one and only evening to roll in smoothly. Matsumoto from the very beginning wasn't at all tense. He was, in fact, far less guarded than Katsura first suspected. What's more he left the office without making sure to take a glance back around. Light switches beyond the secretary's desk were flicked off for the sake of preserving energy and leaving Katsura with one-less job to do. 

Shuffling papers left plenty of paper cuts around Katsura's fingers. The contents of the papers themselves led to an aftermath of boredom, or yet another time-waster. In the end he questioned the worth of his efforts, but knowing he was now free to roam around unsupervised, he had hope that home wasn't as far away anymore. Still twenty minutes by train, but you get the metaphor.

As quickly as he piled finished papers together, covering the typewriter on the desk with a towel to keep the dust particles out, Katsura pounced from his chair with an unrefined squeak. He froze, leaning off to the side, taking one last glance towards the empty hallway ahead in case the noise happened to alarm anyone beyond that point. 

His eyes refused to leave that cold, dark space until he was absolutely certain that Matsumoto wouldn't inconveniently return after accidentally leaving his car keys behind or something similar due to a mere accident. Slowly, he took several steps backwards. He didn't even think to look out for the walls that would inevitably be in his way. It was now-or-never, as they say. That phrase carried him through the rest of the hallway to the double-doors blocking off Matsumoto's office.

Much to Katsura's dismay they were locked up. Of course he would lock his doors. He must have kept a safe in there, not just important legal documents. Two minutes into this operation and he was stuck at a stand-still. Tying up his hair with a pin turned out to be a good call. If Gintoki and Sakamoto had taught him enough about breaking-and-entering during those six years of delinquency, way back when they were high school students, now was the time to take those criminal skills seriously. The problem was that unlocking the door with a mere pin and paperclip from the secretary desk stationery collection wouldn't solve the problem of locking the door again. And he highly doubted that there was a spare to the office lying around. All he was left with was the key to the front doors of the building.

In his endeavour, Katsura was left with a choice. Either wait for a spare to magically appear in his hand through Matsumoto's ever-growing trust in him, which could take any number of days or even weeks of tiring, pointless work. Or he could take away evidence of Matsumoto's involvement today (if there was any in the first place) and leave the man behind to be caught sometime in the near future. Judging by the fax received from Takasugi, he seemed so certain that Matsumoto was getting his hands dirty in all of this loan shark business. Maybe it was worth taking the leap if Takasugi was so sure. 

_Now or never..._

Katsura shakily repeated those very words in his head. Hesitantly he pulled out the pin from his long hair and the paperclip from his pocket, untwisting it into a sort of straight lock picking mechanic. He knelt down before the lock and worked his way through it at an easy pace despite the overwhelming pressure crushing down on his spine and numbing his legs the longer he remained stationary on the floor.

When the lock finally clicked he wasn't sure whether the relief was to wash over him or his cover was washed away by the tide of inconvenient incidents, such as a locked door and a missing spare key to it.

Coming this far meant he had to proceed. He had to. Going back now was pure idiocy. Then again, scraping through life-threatening, career-ruining circumstances wasn't any different. The lights inside were off, and they would stay that way. Like any office, there was a desk, bookshelves, paintings that probably weren't picked out at random for the sake of hiding a safe. Matsumoto was a well-refined man. The idea that he took an interest in art wasn't to come as a surprise to a man of similar taste such as Katsura. 

The light faded from the hallway as Katsura quietly shut the door. First he rifled through a single, knee-high shelf that stood out from the others. It took a moment to spot in the darkness, but there it was hiding underneath the bookshelves adorning the walls. A small square case built into the concrete, hidden behind a glass door. Inside there lay several neat files.

Matsumoto was, as Katsura observed, quite methodical and cautious to the point where he colour-coded his files - The most private set, at least. As well as that, each and every spine was marked with a date panning over the previous months during the year. Katsura made sure to only take out one at a time, read through it, take what he needed, and put it back where he found it, hoping a mere first glance at the glass casing would be enough to trick him for a little while.

"Just as we thought...". Katsura whispered to himself, taken aback.

The files contained information on various business addresses around both Shibuya and Shinjuku. Some of which were structures that Takasugi had been pining after for months and had found to have increased rent and costs of the like. 

"This should be satisfactory. Although I don't know what he'll say when I don't drag Matsumoto all the way back from Shibuya".

That couldn't possibly be a one-man job. Seeing the amount of man-power guarding each floor, manning every desk, carrying who-knows-what for a weapon, Katsura wouldn't be able to make it out of the building in one piece. Not alive anyway. Not by himself.

He scooped up the vital articles of evidence, intending to get out as soon as possible. The hotel wasn't too far from here. He could take the train and reach headquarters by ten at the latest. In the midst of gathering paperwork, again, just like he had been doing all day, he came across another file in the stack that he didn't pay much attention to when the rest of the information was right there in his hands. He had plenty of incriminating pieces already, but this one file showed an upcoming date rather than a recent one.

Curious, obligated, and determined, Katsura flipped through its contents. Looking at the descriptions and pictures, he thoroughly contemplated whether it was of any real importance. What Matsumoto had been keeping, as well as business names and such, was house addresses and descriptions of the interiors. For a realtor that didn't seem all that bizarre. What intrigued Katsura, what sent chills down his spine and up his forearms, was the name of the current tenants depicted. Specifically, an old run-down apartment. Not necessarily the building itself, but a name. 

_Yuka Kanno._

"Wait, that's...".

A familiar name, though Katsura had only recently heard of it today. He hid it away in a drawer hours ago, but upon the secretary's desk outside, there used to be a name plate. Unfortunately left there to gather dust. Only now did something new and bewildering strike Katsura as he knelt there, legs going numb by the second. It sent a rippling wave of unease through his gut like a knife.

_What more could there be even after all this?_ , he thought to himself, quietly, wanting now, more than ever, to leave the building in a mad dash before he sunk deeper into these troubling circumstances. If needs be, Takasugi would have to pull Katsura out himself. 

11

Soon after the train ride home had ended the storm also calmed and the night shed itself into the sky. Everything else in town so happened to spark back to life. Sitting around felt much more meaningless than when Gintoki was simply being lazy. Another twenty-minute train ride home only to sit on the hardwood floor with very minimal achievements, that he knew of. He was left very little choice but to give up information to a police officer - Information that could have led him to Yamamoto's hideout on his own.

Felt like he gave it all up only to have a police squad do all the dirty work for him. Although, when thinking back to the theatre, Hijikata did watch his back, just as Gintoki absent-mindedly did the same for him. Like instinct pledging its allegiance to Hijikata's safety for such a short amount of time.

In his hand he held the feather, twirling it around, coming to question many things about his encounter that he was denied access to ask. Taking his assistance to Hijikata out of the picture, putting a pin in that thought, he questioned what his next words to Takasugi would be and how he would react in return. He could only imagine the worst. That did not necessarily mean that the ground would quake and the entire nation of Japan would split in half through his unmatched fury. Certainly, something huge would leave a dent on the peace-keeping agreement between families if they were involved in this mess somehow but natural disasters were an entirely different phenomenon. 

When the buzzer outside his door crackled obnoxiously he didn't quite know what to expect. Really, it hadn't hit him until he rested his hand upon the handle of the door and gave it a relaxed pull. Answering the door didn't require too much caution unless he was in serious trouble. Only tonight was he baffled and bewildered by the presence whom bid him a anti-climactic farewell about an hour ago in another district.

Now wearing a longer uniform jacket, baring a cigarette between his lips, Hijikata had arrived with a brown paper package in hand that had been wrapped up with care. He appeared differently, somehow. More colourful in the eyes, like a bright, blue sheen had appeared out of nowhere. The revelation of this case had given him something to brighten up about, surprisingly.

"Evening". He greeted, casually.

Gintoki stood still in his doorway, his hand refusing to let go of the handle, which should have rusted with age by the time he released it.

"How...Okay, how the hell do you-...How do you know where I live?" A question he should have asked in the first place. However, an hour ago, he couldn't fathom why Hijikata would know his home address at all. It freaked him out - Anyone would react similarly. 

"I'm a cop".

"That's not a good explanation as to why you know where I sleep!"

"It doesn't matter".

"It does to me! That's so creepy!"

"Shut up, will you? I'm tired. I didn't come here to scare you, I came to make a delivery. One that should clear up this debt, as thanks for providing me with the right information. Even think of it as...an apology, if you want, because I doubted you - But that doesn't mean I'm actually apologising. I had a right to-...Just take it before I blow a gasket".

Gintoki took the tiny package in hand. It's weight matched its small appearance. Definitely full, but barely weighed anything at all. 

"What is it?"

"A photo frame. It's got a picture of Yamamoto with, judging by the pin on his lapel and that infamous face, the Ikeda Family boss. It was hung up on his wall behind his desk. We already have plenty of letters to explain their involvement with each other. What that involvement is, we can't be sure yet. It's all pretty vague".

"Wow. Nice work, Vice-Commander".

"I couldn't have done it without your assistance. I...appreciate it, Gintoki. Really, I do".

Hijikata's voice was soft. Softer than normal. While secluded from an audience of subordinates and the general public, when so relaxed and confident in Gintoki's harmless nature, he let the tough-guy act slide so he could be a normal guy with thick skin and a hardened heart. Gintoki experienced this quiet amazement knowing the man who pissed him off the most wasn't as bad as the act he often put on. And he'd never bring up this dazzling new persona again, for sure. The fact that a demon like Hijikata had other emotions was strictly private. 

"I'm heading back to work. There's still plenty to do in terms of paperwork and court dates. Ah, speaking of which, we'll get in contact with you to provide your own. You still lied to a cop and interfered with an investigation, so...".

"Hey, Hijikata, about before...". If Gintoki's expression wasn't as equally serious as Hijikata's it would be easy to think that he was trying to avoid the subject of his arrest and court dates and all that other law-abiding, straight-back nonsense. "I never said so before...".

"...?"

"You know I'm on the same boat as you, right? I mean, with all that stuff you said...About...crossing the line, bearing those kind of fucked-up actions and everything that follows".

"What do you mean exactly? I, I get that your work is no different from some of my...methods, but-".

"-It's hard to explain, yeah. So, uhm...I don't...take pride in some of the things I do. Sure, I'll admit, it's nice to have money. I can still drink with my buddies, gamble like any other moron in Shinjuku, and take it easy. Then some big job or other comes up and it's not so easy anymore. Whether it's debt collecting, beating some punks to a pulp 'cause they were making a nuisance of themselves in our territory...I can't always take those things lightly. Sometimes it really gets to ya".

"So why did you become a yakuza?"

Gintoki shrugged, smiling as if abashed by the question. He appeared awkward and unsure of himself...Right up until he answered outright. 

"...I did it for a friend. That's the short-version, anyway".

"A friend...".

"Yep. I said I'd always have his back whenever things went south for him. I'm still trying, as much as everything on top of that can get really frustrating. Being a cop doesn't suit you at all, y'know. You're too hot-headed and aggressive, unlike that gorilla stalker. He's an idiot, but he's way too kind to only see the fucked-up shit in people. Even in son's-of-bitches like me...and you. I'm probably taking a shot in the dark here, but I'm guessing that's why you became a cop. For an idiot friend".

"...Yeah. That's...not inaccurate".

"You only go so far, and bear all those crosses, for his sake, right? To get the job done and prevent more innocent people from getting hurt, right?"

"Something like that".

"Then you're far from a monster, Hijikata. You're just one man, hell-bent on getting the job done. A really aggressive, hot-headed-".

"-Yeah, I get it, Yaksha-".

"-Stubborn...".

"Okay, you're starting to piss me off now".

Gintoki chuckled mildly. A strange giddiness washed over him, sweeping underneath his feet like a cool tide. Hijikata wasn't far off from cracking a smile himself. Neither Gintoki nor Hijikata said another word for the next five, six, perhaps seven, seconds. It was difficult to find the right words that wouldn't leave them at an awkward stand-still, knowing that they had never shared such a sad, burdened connection before.

"I'm not quite sure what to say...". Hijikata broke the silence, evidently confirming the awkwardness by saying anything at all.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to".

"R-right. I'll do that then".

Hijikata fidgeted on the spot. He clutched his palms, curling and straighten out his fingers while sweat beads coated them. On the other side of the door, Gintoki was a lot less unsettled. Although he was pausing to shut the door in Hijikata's face and leave things as they were like goosebumps that never seemed to go away because of the cold or...

"So...". Hijikata muttered, his right hand suddenly trembling. "I'll...see you in court, I guess...Gintoki".

He held that hand out. Very slowly he parted his fingers from the centre of his palm, and reached out to Gintoki, timidly and without any real confidence in his actions. Gintoki stared at it. Not for long, but his eyes struggled to leave such a shining spectacle the longer it dangled in front of him like gold bars strung up from a stick. If he wasn't quick about it, it would be pulled away from his grasp. 

He smiled a simple, less mocking smile. And he reached out just as Hijikata did. With a little more confidence and strive he clutched Hijikata's palm, coiled his digits securely around his fingers and knuckles, and shook gently.

"Maybe you will. If not, just know that I can't be thrown in the pen that easily, Hijikata".

"I guess we'll find out".

The court date aside...Hijikata was baffled by the sensation wrapping itself around his hand. Neither of them were able to move from that spot for a few seconds whether it was due to the tension holding them down or a weird sense of normality connecting them by the hands. In those last few seconds - those seemingly important, gentle, unmeasured number of seconds - Hijikata felt the hot-blooded scars coming through tattered bandages, as well as a strange tinge of warmth.

Letting go was a lot easier than performing a handshake. Sounded childish and pathetic but pride was a big thing between them. While watching Hijikata leave the apartment block, wandering onto the street towards a nearby patrol car, the sensation lingered on Gintoki's fingers longer than he wanted it to. Beneath his slippers his toes curled from experiencing such a strange, yet seemingly insignificant, pleasantry like a handshake between rivals. 

What made it all the more awkward was an unwavering notion that he was being watched from afar. Once it hit him, he acknowledged a second presence standing around the corner of the balcony from which Gintoki stood. For this building, a long balcony was built to wrap around the upper floor, leading to every other door aside from Gintoki's. On one side the stairwell leading to the ground was to Gintoki's left. To his right there lay a corner. That corner turned to the next apartment. The person currently watching him didn't live there...Or anywhere around these apartments. 

Gintoki wasn't at all anxious. In fact, from what he was told earlier today, he should have expected this. 

"You know you can come out now...And give me back my address book". 

"Is the show over already? Man~, what a shame. That was really cute too". 

"Okay, I get it. Come on out already - I won't bite". 

"Really? I thought you would today - You looked quite scary even after I apologised and everything, Gin-san...". 

Gintoki glanced over his shoulder. The corner was right there, and the silhouette in hiding had popped out to greet him. Soon, a figure approached. A figure with lushes, long strands of hair and an evening's layer of make-up. As well as a very distinct smell of expensive perfume. 

"Evening, Fumiko". 

"Good evening...Gin-san, hehe".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading the recent chapters of Gintama's manga, I....I'm just done. I'm so done. Sooooo done.
> 
> Thanks, Sorachi...Really. Way to rip my heart out.
> 
> First the Black Butler manga and now this. If you understand what I'm talking about on both instances, or just one, and you feel my temporary pain (over fiction, I know, fight me) then you've earned yourself a verbal hug from me
> 
> *hugs*
> 
> I'm DONE
> 
> Also, re-writes are fan.tastic. It's the most satisfying feeling to finish a chapter's overall set-up - And then go back to fix the little things, so that the quality of the writing and descriptions is a little, teenie-tiny bit better. That may sound strange, but I know now I can sit back and be happier with what I've written. Even if people didn't like this chapter, or felt it was a bit meh, I'll still say I worked as hard as I could to write and fix it.
> 
> (Edit: This is only the first arc, so defeating enemies won't be as easy as this. It's like in Sherlock when catching the first criminal introduced wasn't as complex or stressful as the rest of them, especially during the third and fourth season. God I'm a dork...There wasn't a whole lot of action, but that...That'll change soon enough).


	5. A Town Like Kabukicho Arc: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> The silver-haired Yakuza, Gintoki, was sent out on a mission to shut down Omi Loans in their attempts of scraping through the Takasugi Family's territory within Kabukicho. In the process of retrieving information on their whereabouts through an address book, he was arrested by the Demonic, hot-headed Vice-Commander of the District Police, Hijikata. 
> 
> In a twist of fate they unwilling worked side-by-side to shut them down, coming across an abandoned theatre under renovation, and a tall, pale man of mystery.
> 
> Events continue to unfold, as it seems a third party is involved in the recent spread of loan sharks. And now, after her brief disappearance, Fumiko, turns up on Gintoki's doorstep with a smile.
> 
> And so the story continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this out a lot, lot, lot sooner, but I've been busy with college and then I got really sick one weekend while travelling. So I couldn't focus on writing, got frustrated, but now I'm back.
> 
> I was meant to get out my slice of life stuff, like I said I would. But, to be honest with you, just as quickly as I got into writing that chapter, I lost interest and continued coming up with a more detailed story plan for this. I did work on the chapter quite a bit, it's just not finished yet. Either that or I've been thinking about deleting it altogether.
> 
> On the bright side, I'm really happy with the plan I've made. If I write it out well enough it should hopefully make an interesting read. Slice of life will have to wait a while longer. All writers reading this should know that you can't force yourself to write something when you're not in a good mood or mind-set to do it. 
> 
> I'm sure a few people, if not most, have forgotten the events of the previous chapter, so I'm gonna start leaving these notes on the chapter about the previous arcs, when necessary. This is gonna be a big story, after all. 
> 
> I'm gonna shush now.

1

Floating effortlessly upon the surface of a traditional tea cup was an unknown, pink tea leaf. A petal that soaked up hot water and in return spread a sweet flavour through to be sipped delicately. From the first greeting, Fumiko made herself perfectly comfortable on the floor without intention to show too much courtesy. A habit like that wasn't uncommon for her. For Gintoki it wasn't frowned-up. Nostalgic, actually. The aroma came back to him in soft breaths. Sweet and mild; it was unsurprisingly pleasant. Having picked it out earlier that day Fumiko was well-aware of Gintoki's tastes in advance. She wouldn't try to hide her knowledge either, being as unabashed and cheeky as she was.

"You like it?" She asked, combing her hair back between smooth, delicate fingers.

"Yeah...It's..." Gintoki cleared his throat as he struggled to speak thereafter swallowing his second or third sip. The sweetness lingered on his tongue a while. For the life of him he couldn't coherently describe the flavour. "Ahem! It's pretty tasty. I'mma take a guess and assume it's not a local flavour".

"Not in Tokyo. It was more of a gift, you see. A bit of compensation from a new friend of mine".

"Another one?"

"You know me, Gin-san; I'm so good with people".

Smiling wily was uncalled for when all it did was push Gintoki unto the edge of suspicion where he would be smacked backwards for daring to ask questions. No matter if they were remotely personal or not, Gintoki would get nothing out of prying.

"Mhm...So, anyway, I'd be right in assuming you didn't come here to give me tea leaves. If I'm not, we're gonna have to have a long talk, missy".

"Aw, don't look at me like that~! I'm no thief. If anything, you should be thankful," From her purse, Fumiko pulled out the address book. Seeing it again was something of a relief. Then again... "If I hadn't snatched it, the police certainly would have. I'm sure you would have had a blast explaining that to your cop friend, hm?"

Turned out it caused Gintoki more trouble than what it was worth, ironically. Gintoki swiped the thing across the table. Beneath the curve of his palm it was safe. Holding it close was instinctive after the mess that drowned Gintoki in all it's absurdity. Whether it would be of any use to him or anyone in the family was debatable. That thought irked him greatly. Unfortunately, out of courtesy for a darling like Fumiko, he had to let it pass gradually.

"Doesn't mean I can't be pissed. Because, y'know, you didn't give it straight back".

"I was borrowing it. So now I've returned it. Fair's fair since I patched you up, right?"

"..."

"Have a look inside if you wish - I haven't stolen anything from inside. You have my word".

Receiving the address book again could hardly be called an achievement anymore unless whatever was inside proved useful later on. Glancing upon it, the leather cover went unscathed but there was no telling whether it contained every single page from when it was still being held in a safe. Fumiko assertively pushed the topic forward without so much as flinching anxiously. Her body language spoke of her calmness. Not a word coming out of her mouth shivered under pressure. Though that was to be expected.

Provoked, curious, Gintoki flipped through the pages suddenly. Smelled like a puff of worn perfume...

"I only jotted down one or two addresses in my own set of notes, so everything should be there".

"Takasugi would want to take a look at this. I can't be certain but I feel like he'd recognise some of these names and places in a heartbeat. I would thank you, but you stole it in the first place, so...".

"Aww, so cruel...You can't grant me one, little, teensy-weensy thank you?" She played off and innocent-looking face while twirling her hair between slick fingers that, depending who you are, would either come off as endearing or simply unabashed.

"Haha, not really, missy. If you had given me a hand sooner then I wouldn't be going to court in a number of days".

Gintoki rode on the act of indifference. Internally it was a struggle when watching Fumiko flicker her eyelashes, those two attractive blue-tinted diamonds sparkling to the point where Gintoki could barely make eye contact. He was star-struck, however that wasn't to say his inner attitude towards Fumiko was boyish and innocent; that puppy dog eyes and a spoiled tone could sweep him off his feet. Something he would feel shameful for admitting in the heat of an obviously inappropriate moment.

To be perfectly honest he would wish that the spoiled young woman act was somewhat real if such a magical thing was granted to him. How cruel it was to know that this young missus was an expert with specific types of men and their wily ways towards a beautiful, charming and very charismatic woman. Clearly those men were unaware that they were buying drinks and dinners for someone who was as shrewd as themselves. Considering the weight of his wallet and experiences around Kabukicho that some newcomers would find eye-opening, Gintoki was far from being one of those men.

"Hmm...I suppose". Fumiko sighed. The act wore quickly but it wouldn't exactly earn her a slapped wrist and a condescending scolding. "I am sorry, Gin-san. I could make it up to you some other way".

"What way is that?"

"Ooh, you sound so eager~. Unfortunately I can't think of anything off the top of my head so I'll have to keep in touch".

Fumiko clasped the clips of her purse together.

"Leaving already?" He asked, the discomfort around the nape of his neck bringing his hand up to rub it off.

"I know it's soon but I have some more work to do tonight".

"As you always do. But whatever. I can't force a lady to stay".

"If only you were in the presence of a lady... I'll see myself out. And I'm positive we'll meet again very soon, Gin-san. When you least expect it".

She shot a wink it him, and blue a cheeky kiss to top off his uneasiness. The hem of her skirt swayed in the air therefore not much was left to the imagination. She must have known too, sly witch. As quickly as her skirt flew above her knees it fell straight back down. Similarly, as eager as she was to arrive uninvited she left in a hurry to freshen up her cheeks in front of a hand mirror to go off and make an astounding impression on the next foolish man.

The air grew stiff. An afterglow of her perfume surrounded Gintoki and sent him down, down to the floor where his back would ache and the area between his legs would cry havoc if that were possible; left lonely and unsatisfied by absolutely nothing at all. What was he supposed to expect other than a dash of eye-candy and a floating, invisible, indirect kiss?

"Agghhhh...Fuck" He groaned in utter anguish, rolling over onto his side to join the floor while he dwelled in his own physical loneliness.

Every possible, neat and clean curve, every soft area, every single opportunity would forever be out of his reach. Knowledge so hurtful could only suck out a man's confidence like a parasite slurping at the straw of the bloodstream. Yet Gintoki knew he would stand and walk on again like every other average reject. Wasn't the end of the world.

The tone of his beeper sent him back into the real world. Pulled him into the swing of things. A familiar collection of numbers displayed themselves across the slender screen. He had to forget about his silly fantasies of Fumiko before his head grew too hot. Of course that feeling often faded when a hot bath and a good night's sleep put his mind to rest. Work was his focus now. Not too long after the last job had come to a close. What a hassle...The worst fucking comedy act of the evening.

All the information was right there in the picture of a tiny screen. Having memorised all this had become menial. A bother. He couldn't have been the only one feeling overworked...

On second thought...He was the lazy one, in everybody's eyes. Complaining would be useless when surrounded by dedicated workaholics in an industry that looks down upon tardiness and refusal to cooperate. The consequences were too high.

_Goddammit..._

2

Light had barely scraped the corners of Takasugi's window ledges. The office where he patiently waited for an audience of peers was shed in grey and gloomy reds, giving off a similar appearance to a stage cast in anticipation; they, Takasugi's closest subordinates, his quiet audience. Gintoki appeared to be the last guest to join the Lieutenants. His entry was cold. Those currently present shunned him by the shoulder, the bold and brass Matako reacting with an unpleasant roll of her eyes and an unsubtle click of the tongue.

Takasugi was unimpressed and yet still unsurprised. He left Gintoki on his own. A scolding would get them nowhere, would be childish and foolish to get into now.

"Have a seat, Gintoki. Hurry it up" Takasugi invited him inside. Sitting in his own stylised armchair, among an audience of two sofas, covered completely by his peers, he was rather laid-back.

"Che, I half expected 'im ta show up late" Matako huffed. She sat back on the only other armchair, crossing one slender leg over the other in an upright manner. It wasn't easy to refrain from taking a glance at her cushy thighs under a short skirt. That was only a given because, despite her well-built female frame, her thighs were a little chubby. Funnily so.

"I'm here though, aren't I, Manko-chan?"

"Do yer insults havta be so perverse, creep?!"

"Matako, don't get yourself riled up. It isn't worth it, I daresay".

Lieutenant Kawakami was going to be seated no matter what. His lack of a reaction said much about his tolerance-...No, perhaps his endurance, as a captain leading the other leaders of the group. Admirable, truly. Scary, too. Matako clicked her tongue again, dissatisfied with having been the one taken down a peg instead of the natural-permed ruffian striding in through the door like he owned the joint. That thought itself prickled at her delicate skin.

Gintoki was comfortable finding an empty space next to Katsura, who was barely batting an eye at the scene unfolding. Much like Takasugi, he too was unsurprised by Gintoki's tardy appearance. He was at least friendly face. Technically speaking, however, the man bore a serious scowl. One that conveyed deep thought that led him away from the rest of the conversation, if only by a short stretch. There was something behind that furrowed brow and tint of wondrous light in his eyes.

"Oi, when did you get back?"

"Just now," Although far away in his own head, Katsura did find the energy to pick up his friend's voice to respond promptly. "We've got a lot to discuss, Gintoki. And I mean a lot".

Across the way there sat Takechi, buried in his notes displayed neatly on the face of a clipboard. Nizou too; the lack of sight in those dead eyes invoked Gintoki to privately question all his other senses. How they worked exactly, how he was so confident in them knowing he was at a great disadvantage as a yakuza. According to Bansai, the man followed his prey with a clear nose and perfect hearing. In the end that's all he needed. Quite a scary thought, in a weird way. Made conversations awkward too - The few that existed anyway. Merely sitting across the way, wondering how vivid his presence was to this man, was a chilling sensation that rocked Gintoki to his core the longer he distracted himself with it. Wisely, he stopped.

"It's just as Zura says," Takasugi finally spoke, addressing the entire room, seemingly because everyone was no present. "Tatsuma was supposed to be here, but a very important client of his has held him back. I hate repeating myself like a broken record, so I'll have to let Gintoki and Zura fill him in".

"Great...".

Gintoki slouched in his seat, disregarding pointless details such as etiquette when at least twenty minutes of his life would be wasted panning out every detail of Takasugi's meeting for Sakamoto who had the perfect excuse not to show up. Reminded him of middle school when brats like Sakamoto would call in sick twice a semester to get out of school presentations and conveniently pointless subject lectures on teambuilding, core skills and everything of the like. Sneaky bastard.

"It's only right that we address the elephant in the room first of all. This whole incident with Omi Loans is very questionable. Even more so when you look at the ones pulling the strings".

"And who might that be?" Matako boldly poked at the question in her stride,

To which Takasugi smiled at her, subtly nodding as a sign that others in the room wouldn't pick up on. A question that straight-forward and obvious struck Takasugi as a cue to reach into his breast pocket. What he pulled out was no bigger than a ten yen coin; a shining silver pin that had been scratched and worn for a number of careless years. Wouldn't be inaccurate to say drink and drugs was the primary cause for such misuse. It was first given to Nizou, for obvious reasons.

When given the item, Nizou thoroughly ran his thumb over it's surface. Confidently he grinned and nodded his head.

"I understand," He said confidently "These markings...Ikeda Family, correct?"

"Indeed they are. As most of you probably know, the Ikeda Family are more well-known for their efforts beyond the underworld. Like us, they remain a crime syndicate but their financial support and charity work after earthquakes and other natural disasters in our country has wavered the government's distrust for years. Thanks to that they've also gained loyalties from the Onishi Family boss and his men. They often exchange business deals and even share profits in certain industries".

"You mean the missus' daddy is on good terms with the enemy". Gintoki posed a giddy smirk. Something about a tamed, domesticated Takasugi brought a cheeky grin to Gintoki's face in an inappropriate moment.

The very image was unnatural but it forced Gintoki to hold his breath as even the most childish snicker could get him tossed out of the meeting or worse.

"That's one way of putting it". However Takasugi was smart enough to keep a straight back and cool head. For now, while others surrounded the room waiting for a meeting, not a petty brawl.

"But the Ikeda's don't have any beef with us," said Matako "At least, I thought they didn't".

"Izakaya Ikeda and I were on fair terms the last time we formally met. Though that was a long time ago. Given the current, unfortunate circumstances, we can't be too sure what they're planning. After these past few years I doubt he would make a move like this out of the blue".

"If he were intending to destroy the Family as a whole," Takechi began, "He would have committed such an act when the previous Boss sat that in that very chair".

"Exactly. In any case, we can't make a full conclusion yet. It's boring but we'll have to get to grips on their activities and plans, starting off with Gintoki's findings in shutting down Omi Loans. If you did actually find anything significant, at all".

"Oi, don't start doubting me yet. And don't pull that face!"

"Then don't disappoint me".

"I haven't even said anything, bastard".

"Still...".

The room drew itself into a quiet moment of tension. None of the Lieutenants volunteered to steer Takasugi away from casual interactions with Gintoki before he sounded too comfortable around a lower ranked member. However it felt more and more like the norm no matter how abnormal Takasugi's idle banter sounded to his subordinates.

"Anyway, er, yeah, I did get a couple tit-bits of info," Therein, Gintoki threw down a plastic folder put together in a hurry. Inside, the address book and the photo Hijikata offered to him the night before. It's reason for being here was explanatory enough. Anymore than that would be troublesome to mention. "To put it all in a nutshell, we found out that Omi Loans...Or, more accurately I guess, the Ikeda Family were investing in some shabby theatre in Shibuya. Dunno why, though. That question never came to a head. I think that Matsumoto guy was setting up a renovation deal for the place".

"That's not necessarily anything new in the yakuza," Takasugi added. "Hiring out property in secluded quarters is a useful way to avoid the cops. But a theatre...".

"Heard it used to be an auction house for the black market, shut down because of it," Nizou said, his curiosity peaked - Noticeably by the wry grin stretched across his face.

"That makes a lot of sense, but right now it doesn't seem to have anything to do with us. Anything else?" Takasugi questioned, leaning forward on the edge of his seat.

"Yeah, actually. I met one of Izakaya's boys. A scary-looking fella who said you'd know him. It sure as hell seemed like he knew me...Oh, and, he said I should give you this for a clearer picture".

From the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket Gintoki pulled out the mysterious black feather. Overnight it had slightly wilted. The soft brushes along the stem had turned ragged, prickly to the touch. With it passed from hand to hand, Takasugi quietly studied it in his own time with deep, intriguing interest that had everyone in the room asking the exact same questions. A long, drawn-out process such as this would leave most puzzled. It was only a feather, after all, but to Takasugi it appeared to mean so much more.

"What is it, Takasugi?" Nizou asked, having no choice but to listen instead of watching the cold sincerity on his boss' face.

"A trademark. Did this guy give a name?"

"No, he didn't say a lot about himself, but he didn't exactly try to hide much either".

"In that case...His name is Oboro. Quite an infamous man here in the underworld; a professional hitman and leader of the Tenshouin Naraku. But yakuza? That's news to me".

"So you're telling me I came toe-to-toe with an assassin the other day?"

"Precisely. If he wanted to kill you, though, he wouldn't have given you the chance to see his face. The fact that he let you is another mystery entirely. It begs many questions that we may actually be able to answer, if we press hard enough".

The plot hole dug itself deeper and deeper whenever every new name, face and item of interest was brought to light. Many questions were left with near to no answers after putting a stop to a single, amateur business. Developments like that rarely ever come about in an industry that works on a "get in there and get it done" type shift with no dips or obstacles in their path. For as long as Gintoki and Katsura had both worn the branding silver pins this was the first job that they knew of which had dragged on this far, to a point where its conclusion was a blank page.

If he were in Takasugi's shoes Gintoki would roll his eyes and frustrate. Good thing he wasn't sitting in the big, looming, holier-than-thou chair. Good thing he could never discover the contents of Takasugi's head as the man sneered with glee. A kind of child-like amusement at the prospects of a new obstacle, or several, to knock down in succession.

"We'll look into it, Takasugi-dono - Cautiously," Takechi suggested. No one else in the room could follow the flutter in Takasugi's heart. Takechi was no exception to that. The guy couldn't crack a smile, and that was perfectly A-Okay with everyone who wanted to avoid experiencing night terrors tonight in a cold sweat. "If there's more to their plans than picking a petty fight with us...".

"There has to be more. If this was nothing more than a blunder on their part through arrogance and greed, they've only dug a grave for themselves," Bansai stated boldly, directly to Takasugi.

"Indeed, my thoughts exactly," Takasugi said to finish, smiling directly back. "Bansai, Nizou, Matako, I'll have your factions look into the Ikeda Family's activities. Any crimes committed by them isn't exactly something to bat an eye over, but if it's on our turf, with our people, we'll know about it".

"Very good, Takasugi. If that's all I'll see myself out". Nizou got himself up out of his seat at a significantly fast pace. Loss of sight hadn't let him down anywhere else. If that were the case, there'd be no point in letting him roam around so comfortably with such a high-and-mighty label.

"If that's what ya want, Shinsuke-sama...Bansai, I'll see ya at the usual place later, a'right?" Matako hopped up from her seat into a stretching position. She strode out of the room behind Nizou.

"Gintoki, Zura, I'll plan out more work for you soon enough. If I find any significance in that theatre or Oboro's involvement in all of this, I'll let you know. Got it?"

"Sure thing, Takasugi," Katsura stood as well.

"If it means we get to take a load off for a while, then that's good enough for me," And Gintoki joined him shortly after, the relief washing over him.

Only three were left lingering in that room once the other four made themselves scarce, quietly, to commit to their jobs, or to kill time. Takasugi permitted himself to stand and look for a cigarette among his desk drawers, now that the space surrounding his lungs was beginning to shrink, the will to breathe without smoke and tar gradually fading.

"Shinsuke," Bansai got up, following Takasugi with a lighter prepared in hand "How far do you think this goes? If you-know-who is in any way associated with the recent incidents we can never be sure what they'll try to do".

"No, we can't. But you know me, I'm not too worried. If someone tries to pick a fight with us, it's our way to respond".

"Though it's not like we can make a huge scene. If this turns into a turf war, we could be at risk of aggravating Onishi. And that's the last thing we need".

"That's why, Takechi, we're going to take this one step at a time. I might need to require some extra assistance for discretion's sake and find out what the Ikeda Family is up to".

"If you're talking about the Harusame," Bansai flicked the lighter on, gently swishing its flame under the head of Takasugi's cheap cigarette "I'll see to negotiations accordingly. I doubt they'll put up a fuss, seeing as it's you".

"Hm, quite right. Thank you, Bansai".

In the very recesses of Takasugi's mind a grey page floats above all else. Unconsciously his fingers twirl the black feather around rhythmically. The heavy aroma of cigarette smoke is numb, as well as the very sensation filling him up. He watches the afternoon sky plummet into an upward sea of grey and sickly, diluted brown. A storm perhaps. For no obvious reason the smirk returns, cigarette burning up between his wetted lips.

It's a thrilling feeling. The first since...

Well, since a number of many unforgettable years ago, as far as Takasugi was concerned.

 

3

Dedication was either praiseworthy or plain idiocy. Killing boredom was the at the core of Gintoki's mind currently while striding one foot in front of the other without need to think about it too much. Katsura was upright and focused. A look on his face so serious was dragging out the immaturity nesting inside Gintoki. A fit of snickering was due to echo in the street the longer Katsura kept that look up without explaining himself. Gintoki held his breath though. He held his breath to find the words, to ask Katsura what he was thinking. As it turns out in an unsurprising turn of events he was fully prepared to follow in the footsteps of his superiors.

Offering Katsura a humble pat on the head for his efforts would surely make Takasugi laugh. Gintoki wasn't too far off from letting those feelings out fourfold. For Katsura, praise from Takasugi was unthinkable. And yet his persistence was solid and justified to his principles as a working man. Beforehand, a word of advice passed Gintoki's ear before Katsura left for the horizon downtown.

"Keep your wits about you, Gintoki. You may not have an official duty to fulfil now but it would help if you kept your eyes open for anything of interest. Unfamiliar suits roaming around our turf, alleyway fights...".

"Zura, look, whatever it is, I'll have it covered. It probably doesn't look like it but I do work my ass off sometimes. A man's gotta eat and survive somehow, and you can't do that by sitting on your rear end. Even Takasugi hates being cooped up in an office".

"Hmm...Well, okay. Even if you start playing around for a bit, I trust you won't lose your head. Work's our top priority right now".

"Don't worry about it, man. Go off and do your thing, and I'll do mine. Can't make any promises though. If something comes up, I'll get in contact, okay?"

Katsura wasn't so hesitant when deciding to make his own rounds, alone, only to leave Gintoki to his own personal space. In most cases they were joined at the hip. That wasn't to say it had become a habit. If it did people might talk and the men back at headquarters would be up in arms. Their relationship wasn't so air-tight that either man required a babysitter. Simply put it couldn't hurt to have an extra gun around, especially in the hands of a trusted friend.

Today on one of those rare occasions Gintoki watched that friend's figure shrink thinner and thinner the further he treaded. Down roads which were easy to follow if he really wanted to. Making up his mind to stay put and watch his back turned out to be the less bothersome decision. Now there was plenty of time to breathe some fresh air away from the stench of gunpowder, tobacco and the rigors of power-hungry men looking for a fight. Never a boring day with the yakuza, that was for damn sure.

Currently the time was shy of two in the afternoon. A time when there was no such thing as a quiet space to think. Any entertainment facility in every district was a place to lose your thoughts completely and slip into that blank space where thrills can't coexist with rational thinking. That is, when you're tipsy and alone. Getting drunk is a whole other mess of forgetfulness as Gintoki often experienced over the past few years during that golden transition from giddy teenager to good-for-nothing adult. When nothing mattered and, still, not much else stressed him out other than rent and the heavy possibility of getting shot point-blank in the head tomorrow.

Yeah, such fun...

Spending a couple hours in a lounge was the better idea if he wanted to avoid getting caught up in debt or a brawl. Somewhere that could still spring to life with very few people around. All you needed was alcohol and a karaoke machine. There was also a number of cheap restaurant's squeezed together in the Golden Gai, where you could eat alone and not look like there was something seriously wrong with you. Those spots were so cramped that everyone looks like they're together and loving it. The savoury smell of ramen or pork cutlets was a pleasant image to keep. Made his stomach growl.

Sitting down to a good meal had won him over as a plan, right before making up for the rest of the day with work. Unfortunately the peace could never last. Though he wasn't about to get caught up in cross-fire Gintoki found himself standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he walked quicker or journeyed towards a completely different street...

"Yooooo, Kin-tokiiiiii!"

This sudden, god-awful buzzing swayed in an out of Gintoki's eardrums when the drawn-out call coming from none other than Sakamoto struck him like a stream of lighting before the rainstorm. Distance didn't matter when he had a voice that could penetrate the walls of Fuchu Prison and then some. Certainly the echo was impressive. Several years of it tends to numb the mind. A sharp ringing carried itself for another few seconds around the walls of Gintoki's ears while the rest of his body hesitated to react harshly. He wasn't deaf yet so no real harm was done.

As always an aloof air hung around Sakamoto. It was his scent; followed him around every which way in nearly every situation. To be envious of such a trait was debatable. Caught up in his own dreamland where morning drinking was a hobby rather than flat-out mandatory, like all yakuza dead-beats, the man was never not happy. Still it left Gintoki with a pessimistic impression in the end; that the guy had plenty of time and money to be so giddy all the time.

Considering his recent job it was creepy to find him in high spirits. Daichi wouldn't stop pleading to Sakamoto to let him off the hook. A broken leg and lost pride was all he wanted to suffer. The response he got was a sigh of pure sympathy. Maybe Sakamoto did feel bad for throwing the guy in the mud like that. Didn't mean Sakamoto could drop the job though. Unfortunately for Daichi a couple bleeding injuries wasn't enough to satisfy Takasugi's perverse power-high...from what Gintoki overheard this morning.

"Tatsuma, you been drinking?" Gintoki asked this, curious, when a series of bouncy hiccups flew up from the bowl of Sakamoto's chest. If stumbling around didn't make it anymore clear about that morning hobby of his...

"What? No~-hic!. No-not today, man. I only drank the rest my coffee too fast this morning. The meeting finished sooner than I thought, so here I-hic!-am".

"I'm gonna try to trust you on that one".

"Thanks, pal! So, er, what was Takasugi chattin' about? Must've been important".

"Clearly not enough for him to let you off the hook like that, but, uh...Yeah, to put it in short, the Ikeda Family up yonder are stirring shit up with us. Don't know what their beef is, though"

"It is pretty strange. You'd think they were more neutral - We've got nothin' on them".

"Guess they don't see it that way. You know about their Boss's situation, right? With him stuck they don't really have a leader".

"Mm, true. A family can only fall apart without its leader. No wonder they've been so quiet lately". 

"Probably drinking away whatever money they have left..." 

Somewhere around this mark in the conversation sparks flew rampantly around Sakamoto's head. He grew awfully excited without explaining himself first in the slightest. So what was it he dropped into his so-called coffee? Whiskey or vodka?

"Dude! I just had the best idea! Why don't we go down to a bar or lounge or wherever and hang out for a bit? You know, since we never do anymore - For old time's sake".

"Little early, though, isn't it? And I dunno what you're talking about, we hang out all the time".

"That's for work. We can never act like ourselves 'cause Takasugi's breathing down our necks".

"If he can even reach our necks".

"Hahaha! See, if he heard ya - He'd actually kill ya! Haa, anyhoo, we could always grab a bite to eat first, then go piss away some cash before drinking in celebration!"

"Or washing away our misery".

"That too!"

Sakamoto lovingly threw his arm around Gintoki while they were basking in the glow of opportunity, when they still had money in their wallets and plenty of time to kill. Too much time if you ask the average salary man. Nothing would come of this except a touch of fun. A couple hours would become, in their heads, a couple minutes of pure tomfoolery. Leave the boys to their pleasantries. Leave work stacked at their back their minds to collect the dust of afterthought.

Gintoki hadn't forgotten his responsibilities. Though he hoped nothing important would strike him suddenly out of nowhere, when he was too smashed to prepare for it. "Keep your eyes open and your wits about you"; write that in a goddamn manual: "How to yakuza for dummies" and sell it. Until official orders came through from the big little man there was nothing Gintoki could do other than follow Katsura's unquestioned lead. He chose not to work himself up about it. One afternoon of drinking and gambling pocket change away wasn't going to lead him to hell. Not yet anyway.

 

4

At the end of the day a cheap glass of sweetened sake proved much more satisfying than a bombardment of Dom Perigon bottles and a fruit bowl of watermelon and pineapple. Because nothing made more sense for an economy class cabaret joint to serve first class finger food bullshit and only one type of alcohol which, by the way, also ran through the faucets and the toilet bowls.

They had all the time in the world to kill while Takasugi spun up a following strategy to counter the Ikedas, boldly, ignoring the fear of consequences and instead going for it head-on. Gintoki would surely find admiration in that if any positive feelings towards Takasugi weren't stunted years ago. Distracted by the new pachinko machines displayed close enough so that you could smell the dirty coins, Gintoki and Sakamoto were led to the nearest ramen place later than they may have intended. No official afternoon plan came to a head. Then again that's where the fun spawns from.

"Oi, Kintoki, I'll cover the bill. I said I would",

"You said you'd treat me and Zura to drinks at your new cabaret. Then that plan went to shit so..."

"So this is close enough! Besides, you were on a roll with the pachinko machines, so I have a better excuse to treat ya - Not as great a roll as me, though, but you deserve something"

"You can't be arrogant and rewarding of someone else at the same time, moron. And you're in denial. Those last few games; you ate shit"

"But everything before that, I was on a goddamn roll! Those first few games, you ate shit, Kintoki!"

" _Gin_ toki. It's Gintoki. How many times do I have to remind you?"

"Isn't that what I've always called you?"

It's the narrowest, most unintentionally insulting attempt that only Sakamoto could make. Actually it's mildly offensive. The fact that there was some balance in Sakamoto's intelligence spared Gintoki the worry. There was no real grey area to his mind. Sometimes his thoughts were white and others black; the distinction between both crudely obvious, only ever applying to specific circumstances in Sakamoto's humdrum life as a tradesman.

In business he was a prodigy. Everything else was a blur, or something new to follow for the hell of it. Like a man chasing a carrot on a stick to see if he could touch the very tip of the stick. Ambitious but misdirected. Gintoki could come up with a million analogies off the top of his head on this one absent-minded man and never get bored in the process.

"Hey, Kintoki," Again with that - Jesus, man! "Did you hear? There's some shifty people lurking around Kabukicho lately".

"Tell me something I don't know".

"Apparently one of the major non-yakuza gangs has resurfaced and is wandering around anonymously".

"I'm not one for gossip, so if this is all rumours...".

"You know one of their gang members, don'tcha?"

"...".

"Well~ my sources tell me that he's been popping up around the district more often. Pretty scary stuff if you ask me".

"This, coming from a member of the yakuza".

"He's a scary dude! Chaotic and ruthless...".

The crime scene outside of the offices wasn't exactly news. Everybody located in this small district heard. Their whispers make that clear enough. Gintoki had street smarts to steer clear of all the hassle outside of his profession, however, in saying that, there was so much more going on within it. If more amateur cliques and gangs were openly making themselves known that meant more work for the officials and whatnot. And now one of the biggest gangs in Kabukicho was making a second appearance after a couple years of hiding in the shadows. Cockroaches can never truly die unless their squashed or gassed. Scary...Sounds like something Takasugi would mutter under excited breath...

The biggest issue was that Sakamoto wasn't exaggerating when describing the man who, right at this very moment, would be strutting through the streets and alleyways, acting comfortable as though picturing his name tag plastered across every building to pass by. All Gintoki knew was that he was indeed an amateur, and that he bore no caution or discipline, unlike his previous predecessor, as the rumours told.

"Kind of like our leader, eh, Kintoki?"

Sakamoto felt it necessary to nudge Gintoki's elbow. That was no cheeky quip, it was more or less the truth. However the word "leader" was off and sour and all sorts of wrong.

"You know I'd rather you not call him that. Just Takasugi's fine you dork".

"Guess it's an improvement from _shrimp_ ".

"Heh, and _bean sprout_ ".

" _Small fry_ ".

" _Too tiny to ride the rollercoasters_ ".

"God if only he could hear ya now".

"I know. He'd sucker-punch the shit outta me".

Chaotic and ruthless apparently didn't mean much anymore after a couple drinks of sake and a lifetime's worth of making the same jokes over and over like a broken record. Talk like this brought the very worst out of their esteemed leader. And they meant the worst - Grumpy and unpredictable. A little tantrum-building boy in disguise; yet another image they were able to laugh over privately.

"He's pretty secretive nowadays, huh?"

"You can say that 'cause it's only been a few years for you. I'll tell you right now, Takasugi hasn't changed one bit. He could have been keeping some pretty wacky things under wraps for years".

"What, like he's one of those...homo types? Now that's a scary thought, hahaha!"

"Does he look like the type to hang around that district? Sure, the fact that he's engaged means little, but you've seen him act coy in front of women before"

"You never know. A guy I work with is a gay. He doesn't talk 'bout it though, for obvious reasons".

"And he told you this?"

"Nah. Intuition, man. Smells like lemons and dresses real smart and cute. Conditions his hair too, if my eyes are correct...".

"Hm...".

"Come to think of it," Sakamoto leans towards Gintoki, taking in an obviously exaggerated sniff. "You always reek of strawberries...You got somethin' to tell me, Kintoki?"

"Fuck off, man!" Grinning, Gintoki forces Sakamoto's face away with a shove of his hand. The stench of sake lingered around his nose from that uncomfortably close experience. "I've caught more than that crazy cat lady living below me. Know what I mean?"

"Well you're not tryin' to be subtle about it...".

"Nah...'Course," Gintoki muttered, sake cup resting coolly underneath his lip. "Feels emptier than what I remembered...".

"What was that, man?"

"Hm? Ah, nothin'. Forget 'bout it".

"Hey, you want more booze?" Oh, yeah, Sakamoto forgot about it fast. That may have been the alcohol's aftereffect talking for him in embarrassing slurs. "I'm gonna order another pitch, so feel free to drain my wallet while you still can"

"Sure. Why not?"

Sakamoto spoke too soon when the alarming racket of his beeper set off, rumbling around his pocket obnoxiously. Barely anyone was talking around them thus the noise was embarrassingly disruptive. Not that he cared for other people's glaring glances and judgemental whispers. It might as well have echoed into the next building and the one after that, knowing how thin these walls were. Sakamoto threw his hand into his pocket and took an irked glance at its screen.

"Uuugh, that's why," He groaned. The smile stretched across his face drooped sadly. What an unusual sight to see up close. Freaky if you think of Sakamoto as one, big, goofy cartoon character stretched out into life.

"Who is it?" Gintoki asked without thinking too much about sounding worried. He wasn't. So his voice was naturally indifferent.

"Mutsu. Guess work's piling up. Sorry, man, I gotta take this. Probably won't be back either".

"So be it. Try not to get killed by her, alright?"

A smile returned again, as it normally would under any miserable or annoying circumstances. The man was a rock. A smiling, idiotic rock on happy pills or something of the like. Ah, the alcohol, the alcohol...Right...

"I'll try, man. See ya 'round, Kintoki. Oh, and, remember - if ya need anything, at any time at all...".

"If that's a subtle hint to pull you outta work for late night drinks, I'll have to decline. Do your work ya bum".

"Hey~! I wouldn't dream of ditching! You know me, friend! Haha, later".

With that the giddy maniac disappeared behind the folding door, off into the street where the evening drifted in. Most likely travelling to Shibuya in one of his fancier cars to avoid all the human traffic and shady alleyways. As quickly as the absent-minded man left his bowl of stagnant, cold broth behind Gintoki grew tired. He asked the old man behind the counter while he wiped away the leftover grime for another round of drinks in the hopes of easing the emptiness. For his own sake he would contently deem this as his last one for tonight. Anymore would be one hell of a slippery slope walking home. Taking on that gamble for a brief, happy buzz was shy of moronic. If gangs really were popping up he couldn't afford to get mugged. A clean silver pin meant nothing when you're tipsy and stupid.

He left the tiny ramen shop sober. A wave goodbye to the friendly old man hunching behind the counter and he was set to take a walk. The cold didn't bother him much. Now that summer had officially past it wasn't all that damning to find rain spots smacking the pavements or to feel a slight chill in the air. What he agonised over most was wondering what to do with his time now that he had no company. Sleep sounded nice. After an eventless day like today sleep always sounded the most appealing. To pass the time and not even realise it...Pure fucking bliss.

Who the hell cared if it was early? Well he did. Sleeping in early would mean waking up in the middle of the night, unable to fall back into that happy, shrouded state of unconsciousness. So what now?

Entering the main pedestrian street led him straight back into the apathetic crowds of Tokyo. Straight-faced strangers zigzagging between each other to get to wherever. Among them there were a few giddy souls enjoying the nightlife, as you should, given the time and money. As Gintoki soon found out, one individual conveniently skipping around happily in a carefree universe inside her head, among everyone else, didn't require much money to ease the boredom. More of an allowance...

"Gin-chan?! Gin-chaaaan!"

High-pitched and less jarring, Gintoki experienced a spark of nostalgia and, honestly, maybe even joy. He reared his head beyond the crowds, finding a narrow gap stretching through the pedestrian crossing where a young girl came running at him at full speed. Apparently she was leaving behind a couple other girls just like her, confused and irked from abandonment. Smirking, he kept his feet grounded but made it very clear he saw her; Kagura, the china girl in red.

"Gin-chan!" She bounced up all of a sudden. The excitement bursting from this girl forced Gintoki to reach out and expose his battered and blistered fingers when she wrapped her skinny arms around his shoulders, fully expecting him to catch her.

He did. Barely. Anymore weight and the girl would slip through his arms. Upon impact Gintoki stumbled back but maintained some sort of balance through parting his legs a little ways from each other, straining himself in order to keep Kagura from falling straight to the cold, hard ground.

"Woah! Watch it kiddo - You trying to knock me over?!"

"Are you trying to say I'm fat, you stupid mop-head?"

"You're definitely not light, ya glutton".

Kagura scrunched up her face into a childish pout when, in any instance, the conversation didn't sway in her favour. Comments about her eating habits were an undeniable fact, and so therein returned the sulking mask of a young child who could no longer defend themselves. She dropped herself back down onto the ground. Her arms swayed back and forth loosely as the attitude dragged itself out unnecessarily.

"Been a while, huh, kiddo?" Gintoki petted her head.

"Mm-hm!"

Incidentally he let the unsightly state of his hand slip his mind. Privately he looked upon Kagura with eyes glimmering softly with pride. How she sprouted a few more inches and let her spirit roam free while she could. He dwelled on those thoughts. The state of his hand mattered very little in such a moment of ease. Kagura's attention to passed by without much of a reaction. Naturally her eyes shot up and found the red-stained gauze hiding his skin and scars. That couldn't be helped.

What followed was an innocent smile, nothing more. Which was curious...A smell, the unattractive stench of old gauze, ointment and blood lingered between them - Only the smell. That in itself was embarrassing. Yet both Gintoki and Kagura contently brushed the subject off like a spec of dust; wasn't worth fussing over now.

"Where the hell have you been?" Kagura's pouting dragged its feet, dragging Gintoki right along. Her cheeks puffed out, her eyes leering at Gintoki. "Have you been getting into trouble again?"

"Heaps of it," He responded bluntly. Not to scare the girl, rather to harvest humour from their conversation as a way to keep things light and fluffy between them. Serious talk was for work - This was another matter entirely; a round circle rather than a hard-edged square for Gintoki to work his way around. In this case, however, was it the other way around?

"That's not funny, y'know. Shin-chan and Boss Lady were worried, aru!"

"Oh, were they? Well you're gonna have to forgive me for that. Work's been a bit of a pain recently so I haven't had much time to keep in touch".

"You're terrible, Gin-chan, aru".

Gintoki gladly took those words on with a pinch of salt. Not that Kagura would ever despise him for always running off.

"It's the truth. And stop giving me that look; you're not my Mom".

"I mean you're terrible at staying out of trouble, aru! Geez. And I thought Kamui was bad".

"Now that you mention him, have you seen him around lately?"

The source of Gintoki's curiosity was difficult to describe. Even he struggled to find a good reason why he asked in the first place. Simply put, though he would inevitably sound like an idiot, the question slipped out.

"He came home last night, so that's something, I guess".

Again with the apathy... This girl has seen it all and simply didn't care anymore; for bullshit anyway. Maybe she was too young to brush everything off like all of the world's problems were nothing. Still Gintoki admired the only mature part of her personality when it came down to everything truly important. In a way he felt sorry for her situation and the idiot who made that so.

"Those your friends over there?"

Gintoki found the narrow gap again among the people passing by on their way to wherever. Kagura followed his eyes and, with a smile, nodded joyfully in contrast to the hard, cold expressions of two girls swaying their handbags around, shaken to the very core by Kagura's sudden disappearance.

"Yup!"

"You might as well get back to them, otherwise they'll leave without you".

"I said I'd be right back...". Kagura swayed her heels back and forth slowly. A look of pondering stuck to her face. She wouldn't stop narrowly glancing towards her supposed friends as they talked among themselves, their faces presenting a much happier state without Kagura in their company.

"Gin-chan," She then turned straight back to Gintoki and smiled. "Can't we hang out for a while?"

"What about your friends? Trust me, privileged little girls your age hold some pretty petty grudges over that stuff".

"I don't really care. I'll just tell them that I have to go run some errands and they can at least try to understand. Be right back!"

Kagura dashed back across the crowded street in disregard for whatever Gintoki had to say as a way of convincing her otherwise. He watched her back, ready to jump in front of a speeding car if he had to because everyone walking these streets as a witness knew he had to throw himself like a mattress to cushion a girl's clumsy fall. Whatever. Nobody said Gintoki had to make choices for her, seeing as she was willing to ditch her friends. He didn't mind the company too much either. Kagura didn't have to hear that with her own ears, ever.

The most Gintoki picked up from their private negotiation was a couple quick nods. After that the girls went their own way, disappearing behind a wall of people some twenty ft. away where the pedestrian crossing skewered off from the city. Kagura returned swiftly in high hopes. Skipped her way back.

"You coming, Gin-chan?" She hopped on ahead, twirling around to catch a glimpse of the mop-head following her.

"Yeah, sure. Anywhere you wanna go in particular?"

"I'm hungry".

"Course you are. Food it is then - But don't expect anything expensive".

 

5

"What're you so happy about?"

Nihilism was an exaggeration. Rather, there was a hint of rejection pushing aside the wonders of this city that could be admired by many others. Not once did he appreciate the glow of this city and how it frothed up with possibilities of adventure and trouble. Something, something gritty, about concrete boxes and metal bars invoked a new appreciation for the open spaces of Tokyo. Kabukicho specifically.

"Why shouldn't I be happy?"

"It's not that you shouldn't; ya just look _too_ happy. It's creepy".

"That scruff of yours is creepy. Now let's see...".

A line-up of cars blocked off the slender passageway of this isolated road, separated from the pedestrian crossings and, more importantly, the people. That'd offer sufficient time to cause a bit of havoc. That is if they spotted the right vehicle among all of these shiny junk piles. Confidently, the brunt head of a baseball bat was swiped across every car door. No alarms went off yet.

"You know - ahem - _boss_ , if ya-...".

"Red, convertible, blue convertible...rented mini...".

He, the one firmly holding the bat, muttered creepily to himself, and gazed upon each vehicle with great, bizarre interest. Clearly he wasn't targeting the other five left behind to rust. Only one would catch the mischievous eyes of one such stereotypical delinquent prowling Tokyo's street. Difference was the tattered uniform was cast away in a dumpster some two years ago and the hairstyle was a trademark since childhood; long and braided neatly like a schoolgirl's. Vermillion - a deep red - like the familiar performance of a bonfire's flame.

"Oi, you listening? Boss? Kamui?!"

"Hmmm?" He spun around clumsily, stretching out one hell of a smile. "Whazzat, Abuto? You talking to me?"

"Would you prefer it if I jus' said your first name? Would that get ya to open your fuckin' ears?"

Abuto, the other, was tall and scruffy from head to toe. A contrast lay visible between them, even personality-wise. Encountering them would certainly bat a few pairs of eyes, that was normal, to be acknowledged by people who tried to look normal together. This, however, was an odd pair, unfortunately linked to the hip. A tall man and a younger-looking ruffian set out to make rounds.

"It isn't like you to be so formal, so go ahead. We're good~ buddies after all".

"Since when?"

Most strangers would probably take Abuto for a bodyguard and Kamui for a mere brat, given their height difference and overall aesthetic.

Near the end of the road, a very expensive model stood out between two paint-stained excuses for cars. This one had plenty of space too because the owner was so conscious of all the others that were dented and dirty. Either that or the ten to thirteen other car owners offered the big man with the fancy cruiser the privilege of more space. Wouldn't want to scuff the paint job now.

"Ah! Here it is~! Nice and shiny, shiny and oh so pretty, Porsche 928! Like in the States!"

"This model's from Germany," Abuto sighed deeply in despair. Not that it mattered what model it was or where it came from.

"If it's breakable, I don't give a crap".

Kamui was careful when he climbed the trunk. All of his weight emitted nothing more than an ominously loud creak which, to say the least, left Abuto's teeth on edge. In his mind it wasn't so much the risk that caused him to wince. Going for such a risky route demonstrated by itself how the little details mattered as much as the consequences of this excursion. To Kamui anyway. Whenever Kamui was involved nothing mattered aside from the thrilling outcomes of his otherworldly, extreme actions.

Scouring the roof, Kamui stood above the front window. A wide, cheeky grin took up most of his stupid face. Holding in another long, fruitless sigh, Abuto readied his own weapon of choice; a crowbar that was built far beyond the length of his arm that carried similar impact to Kamui's. He aimed for the rear window. Studying the car for a couple seconds was more than enough time to figure out a chronological order in which to strike. First the rear window, then the trunk, the passenger window to the left and...

"Abuto, you take the right side".

"Wha-...Why?"

"Space is smaller. It'll give me enough time to get away if we're caught, so you distract 'em".

"You're on the roof, you moron! You can get away easily anyway!"

"I know. But it'll be funny to watch you struggle to get out - Well, for about two seconds. Cause, y'know, I have to run and everything".

"You are such a dick. Hell no. I'm taking the left, you brat".

"So you still wanna do this".

"Sure. Bastard had this comin' a long time. We coulda just hunted him down in person but...".

"But what would be fun about that?"

"..." Abuto found his smirk. Less boredom, more enthusiasm; as Kamui anticipated. It would come along nicely eventually. All he needed was some snarky brat to jab at his side until it tickled.

Kamui raised his bat up high in the air. The chances that a dozen onlookers lying awake inside one of these shabby buildings could see these atrocious acts was probable. They weren't exactly abandoned so about anyone could scorn at them from afar. Someone could have rushed out and done something to stop the two hooligans in black. Call the police, tackle them, anything at all. Who knows, really...Maybe it was so dark around this boxed street that anyone from any of these buildings would struggle to see even two ft. in front of them.

"Ready?" Abuto raised his weapon, fashioning his pose like that of a golfer, to which his counterpart snorted laughter through his nose. "And..." Kamui sneered, his eyes wide and his fists clenching the handle of the bat tightly enough to leave red rings down the centre of his palm. Inhaling deeply..."...Strike!"

Kamui brought down the first swing, mustering up all his maximum adrenaline to make it count. A thundering crash shook the base of the car, glass shattering across the hood and the concrete below into dozens of fragile crystal pieces. Much larger shards scuffed and scraped the paintwork. A booming, whining alarm that thumped moaning echoes inside the ears sounded upon impact. Over, and over, and over, and over. The same tone on repeat that wouldn't shut off until they started running. For what it was worth they never intended to stop the moment the alarm cried. They drove the state of the vehicle into a heap of dents and scrap. Looked a hundred times worse the more Kamui brought down the power of sociopathic adrenaline as if tormented by the Porsche's old, brand new shine in silver coating.

He cackled and jumped and bounced around, not caring if that somehow encouraged a louder siren to cry out to any old bystander passing through. All the noise eventually reared heads from numerous windows leering over the narrow street, as expected. Curtains shifted drastically to the walls. Some men ran out onto the scene to witness the chaos for themselves. Many were caught speechless while the rest made a valiant attempt to put a stop to the madness.

"Oi, Kamui, we should go," Abuto backed off. The skin of his arms was stinging from the throwback of glass shards and metal pieces. Both were cut up and bleeding but it didn't send him into any kind of frenzy.

"Indeed. Looks like he's not here, so I don't suppose we won't be attacked any time soon".

"Not if somebody's called in the pigs!" Abuto started to run when a band of middle-aged men called for a man-hunt.

"True~" Kmaui hopped off and found his footing in a mad dash for the end of the street, where they could get lost in the crowd. "Okay! Let's go!"

"God you are so fickle!"

Abuto was forced to keep up with the young one, arms swinging back and forth to maintain speed and agility. Kamui proved faster, and that irritated him to no goddamn end.

"You're always saying how immature I am - I'm simply meeting your expectations, by being fickle, like a child!"

"That ain't something to brag about, idiot!"

"Scruffy!"

"Infant!"

"Bigger, scruffier infant!"

"Oh my God, shut the fuck up! Ah!" They suddenly came to a crossroads beyond the darkened streets where freedom lay itself out before them as a dim yet visible passage. "Here, here! Split up!"

Abuto immediately went his way, calling out from over his shoulder that they were inconveniently forced to meet up later. Kamui would have to know where on his own.

"Sure!" He yelled back without certainty that Abuto could hear his sarcastic twang. Knowing Abuto he could probably hear it from space. "And if you get arrested I ain't bailing you out! Just so you know...".

Given the layout of the town, Kamui was stuck with the longer route. Still he followed Abuto's lead and not his trail. Clumsily he skidded around corners and threw himself over alleyway chain-link fences until brighter, more promising pastures met him halfway, glowing neon pink and red from every which direction like a series of spotlights flashed upon him in the heat of this so-called chase.

He stomped through into the open city among the dozens of people who most likely had no idea who he was - Not unless wanted posters were still a thing utilised by the dead-beat cops of Kabukicho, as Kamui saw it. A wide grin affixed itself to his face - Stuck by the joyful high riveting every fibre of his being, exactly like a drug.

Some folks reacted harshly to the young man pushing through them inconsiderately. Kamui didn't apologise. He didn't have an obligation to. Others made an effort to get the hell out of the way once rhythm among the rabble shook into discord. And in the centre of it all, only one individual refused to move for anyone now stumbling around in their stuffy suits and lack of regard for others. This included Kamui, the most disruptive and stand-offish individual to crash into this part of town by sheer coincidence.

His chest knocked straight into a blur of body and frame. A figure had stood in his way but he did not fall to the ground so easily. The boy stumbled backwards and got a good, hard look while stunned in place, fixed to the ground. Circumstances gave him a shred of confidence that he was off the hook. However, a twist in fate had Kamui brushing all of that nonsense off.

Black, creased, unrefined clothes and a baby face to boot. First thought: a high school delinquent sporting bontans and dishevelled hair. This guy, however, kept it short and neat - Golden brown, like a kid's. His eyes as they stared right into Kamui's were indifferent until a shine glared through. A sparkle of interest and joy. How he smirked; that expression wasn't too far off from Kamui's. Wide - painfully wide - and mischievous.

"Well, well..." He murmured lowly. "If it isn't Kamui," He turned right around to face Kamui boldly as if to a friend.

"Mm-hm..." Kamui maintained a cheeky smile willingly. "If it isn't Okita-kun~. Out on rounds?"

"Uh-huh. You're the same, right?" Okita's apparent curiosity fell flat, uninterested and somewhat impatient.

"If that's what you want to call it I won't stop you".

Not one for subtly, good old Kamui... Kamui kept up his high spirits and impish grin. A performance worthy of Okita's approval but not his conviction.

"...By the way, that call that came in earlier..." Okita muttered, inching himself closer to Kamui from the side, acting as a sly obstacle in his path.

"Now that was fast!" In turn Kamui remained distant.

"...About you prowling the area lately...Seems like you're up to no good".

"What makes you say that?"

"It's written all over your face you bastard". A low growl emitted itself from within Okita's throat. Embarrassing, yet he stuck by the horrendous noise as a purposeful method of madness and intimidation.

"Now that's mean. I'm in a happy mood tonight! And now I'm in an even better one".

"Oh really?"

"Mm-hm~".

Okita stood firm. As did Kamui. An intense shift ran between them, drifting back and forth, back and forth. No one around them could sense it. No one cared so no one understood what they were in for. A real show to spark new life into this town, to get people talking for a while...They always do.

"Just so you know, Kamui, it's actually a good thing I bumped into ya".

"Isn't it though? Such cherished moments...".

"Disgusting. But, lucky for you, a little slip of paper was issued to say we'll be spending a lot more time together. Seems like the higher-ups wanna have a word with you".

"Ooh~, fun~. Do I get a choice?"

"Not unless you wanna make this more difficult".

"I see...".

"...".

"...".

A silence falls upon them. Long and unpredictable to those mindlessly walking past and around them in total unawareness. Kamui clenched up his fists until his nails dug firmly into his palms as a harsh reminder to maintain strength. Okita was on the same boat, truthfully. Though his method of composure was smacking the base of his thigh with his fist in short, rhythmic bursts as a reminder to keep his guard up and to never let himself slip away. That's how it started.

That is how it kicked off, through bleeding flesh and aching bone - As cold, painful reminders to two very chaotic young men, who knew they were being watched, that they weren't so different. God that couldn't have been more irritating to know...What pushed them, what really pushed them, was the hope that one was at least stronger than the other. Knowing that would be most satisfying.

 

6

A very small housing vicinity lay separated from the big picture of Kabukicho. Just about the most exciting work of architecture, aside from the two-floor apartment buildings and houses with narrower than narrow staircases, was a miniature convenience store that's door was non-existent. What they had was a large cooler that took up ten square tiles of the floor, and was built in next to the entranceway due to the position of the electricity outlets and the lack of room for aisles of necessity.

Sitting contently on the porch was Gintoki and Kagura who had both purchased an ice-cream of different flavours. Kagura insistently shoved her allowance onto the register the moment Gintoki tossed up his own wallet. All a-dozen and then some yen coins. Her argument was that big girls pay for themselves. That was valid if she really wanted to grow up from a bean sprout into a cut of celery or something just as absurd.

Kagura had wolfed down her ice-cream faster than Gintoki could scrape the vanilla and strawberry remnants from his pudding cup; thing is he wasn't even at that stage yet. Raising the wooden stick of her dessert up to line with the dimming sunlight, Kagura licked her lips and grumbled sorely.

"What's up?" Gintoki asked. There was no need to act overly-concerned so he didn't stop to put a hand on her shoulder or anything.

"I lost...".

"Hm?"

"There's no mark on the stick, so I lost".

"You know those are a myth, right?"

"Nuh-uh! Soyo-chan found a mark on hers a couple weeks back, so she got a freebie! Yeah, she shared it with me - but still!"

"That's 'cause she's Tokyo's little princess. They probably made those ice-cream's specially for her, seeing as she's been going out in public a lot more. Never seen Kabukicho get so much advertisement. Not in my time anyway".

Gintoki continued to scoop out melting blobs of ice-cream from his cup while Kagura sat back after impatiently digging through hers, only to gain nothing out of doing so. She puffed out her cheeks in a sulk. That act didn't last long. Her emotions were fickle. From anticipation to sulking to boredom, she stretched out both legs beyond the curb and let out a sigh built up from holding the air in between both cheeks.

Gintoki asked, curious:

"Wanna go home yet?", suspecting her to already be tired of lounging around on the dirty pavement in front of a shop that smelled distinctly of spoiled ice-cream and humidity even in this September weather.

"Why, you wanna get rid of me already?"

"Never said that. If you wanna hang out longer that's fine but I can't promise you much conversation".

"I don't really feel like going home. Not yet anyway".

"Something happen?"

"Some idiot was born four years before me; that's what happened".

"Fair enough - Clearly a sensitive subject. Your place is around here, isn't it?"

"A couple blocks away. This store's on the way to school but it feels like I haven't been stopping by much lately. I don't have much of a reason to go in by myself - It's kinda weird, uh-huh". She didn't mention why. The solemn look on her face was enough to put Gintoki's mind to rest before he started asking unnecessary, stupid questions. "I mostly go into town now. It's fun".

"You know that's not entirely safe for a kid your age".

"If I stay up really late, then sure. But I'm usually with friends, and I'm not an idiot, Gin-chan!"

"I didn't say that, y'know".

"You're implying it!"

"I'm only saying it because you're a brat. It's a dangerous world out there, and if you ever got hurt, I...". Gintoki slowed down when speaking absent-mindedly, drifting rapidly away from Kagura's attention the more he rambled on, smiling like the nice guy he was without picking up on it, until now.

"...?"

Kagura showered him with this deep, stare of confusion that honestly put him on edge. His tone and the way he was speaking to her now, narrowly leaning towards becoming some kind of mentor to her, made him stop and think and reconsider what he was about to say. It would feel weird if he suddenly took a turn for the cosy, father-figure route that would probably make Kagura's skin crawl. God forbid, his would too later on.

"If you ever got hurt it'd prove how big of an idiot you are".

"Pshh, you're the idiot! What's with that smile? You're weird, Gin-chan".

"And you're an idiot".

"Ugh!" Kagura playfully shoved Gintoki with both hands. He swayed but did not fall. Bouncing back was easy enough. His only worry in being shoved by Kagura was that his ice-cream would spill as it had already started to melt.

She crossed her arms over in another sulk but smiled sheepishly at last with little to no contempt towards Gintoki's brass, obviously acted-out, attitude.

"You wanna sit here a while longer, then? That is, if you really don't wanna go home".

"Not yet anyway. A while longer then we can go".

Tempted to pet her head again, Gintoki fidgeted where he sat. Didn't move anymore than that. He was merely tempted. Since when was it his job to buy ice-cream and make this kid giddy with glee over stupid shit? Well, his purpose wasn't to make Kagura miserable. He'd never dream of it unless there was some, meaningful reason for him to leave her in such a state...Like last time. Nowadays she looked so happy to see him. Kagura, and others.

An interesting, emotional feeling, just...One that's hard to describe off the top of his head that's usually filled with marvellous witticisms and brass. Leave it in silence...If he expressed himself so fondly, Kagura wouldn't be the only one with her skin crawling.

7

Productivity was slow. A lead had come up to the convenience of the police but his whereabouts couldn't be pinpointed. Kabukicho was the only location where information could be gathered at this point in time. Silly to follow rumours but over here it was the only reliable source to go on. A very thick, unnerving stench of cigarette smoke wafted around Hijikata's nose. Though his habits were now numb to the senses an unfamiliar brand scratched at him constantly the more he was subjected to smoke.

Menthol...That moron Tetsu...

Out of all his painfully slow jobs this one was a kicker. Wandering out on patrol on a witch hunt - Two, for that matter. And he could handle that, guaranteed. The problem was his memories were out of sync with everything else. He was drifting in and out of a fog, hiding a canvas of a single, wry smirk and dead, glaring eyes that sunk deeply into the far reaches of Hijikata's skin, like a shiver.

He flatly exhaled a cloud of distasteful smoke and drove the image away. Kept walking, didn't think to stop out of frustration. Surprisingly he was much calmer than he would normally be whenever annoyances popped up randomly in his head. In this case, right now, while he was out looking for one particular annoyance, Gintoki wasn't the biggest pain to smack his back for attention. He couldn't believe it himself, after last night...He couldn't believe that, for one moment, he-

"Hey, Hijikata-kun~. Man you look grumpy, as always".

"...!"

Hijikata didn't subject himself to jumping out of his skin. He didn't have the energy to spare for it. On the off hand, his reflexes turned him right around. As though a wild premonition came to life, Gintoki appeared before him with the same damn expression he imagined. At first glance he seemed to be in a good mood, and what's more he didn't drop that smile when finding Hijikata. He was still pretty happy, in his own, smug way.

"Yaksha...".

"Yo".

"What're you doing here? If you're intending to cause anymore trouble...".

Gintoki chuckled mockingly.

"Hah, it's really cute when you act so serious. It's like second nature, for you, huh? Not just the big, scary act".

"...! What the hell are-...?"

"You know you don't have to act like the Pillar of Justice, or something, in front of me, right? Taking your job so seriously...I know what you're really like, especially after yesterday".

"And what's that?"

There was a pause between them. The still atmosphere hadn't cooled off even after yesterday's shenanigans, when these two men stopped and spoke normally to each other like the bad blood between them was transparent, and momentary. Hijikata kept thinking back to the theatre, wondering how much Gintoki understood from the blood stain coating the hilt of his sleeve, to be hidden away. The way Gintoki stared at him now, as if he knew, it was...bothersome. Made Hijikata come up with all sorts of crazy theories on the spot; "he's judging me", "he's looking down on me", "like he's one to talk", "like-"

"...That you're a total softy".

"Huh?"

"Haha, you make people think you're a hard-boiled guy but you're pretty soft. Didn't kill me yet, did you? That's proof enough".

"The longer you keep up that smug attitude, I'll reconsider".

"See what I mean? It's so freakin' adorable, no wonder you're a babe magnet. I'd be jealous if I wasn't way sexier".

Hearing Gintoki act all the more aloof, in a totally different way, was a very strange thing.

"...Oh yeah?"

"Oi, what's that look for? I'm gorgeous! Women used to call me the furball 'cause I'm big and cuddly like a teddy bear!"

His tone, the way he spoke, this light glowing in his eyes, like that of a friend booming his voice out to another friend. Only yesterday were they butting heads. Even now there existed a rotten tension but underneath that there was, all this...

"Sure it wasn't 'cause of the perm?"

"It adds charm! Nearly everyone has straight hair, so that makes me unique! Chicks love that shit!"

"...".

Hijikata hid behind the smoke of his cigarette. The distinct taste of this particular brand crawled underneath his skin but he put up with it for cover. Normally he was fully capable of maintaining a straight face yet for some reason something broke inside him. Gintoki leaned in, surprising him, therein making him jitter slightly. He didn't budge from there, didn't move, couldn't find the will to blink while Gintoki stared him down boldly.

"Ehh? Are you smiling~? Big softy Vice-Commander~".

He had the higher ground...What a shitty feeling that was...Shittier still how Hijikata was the only one jutted out of place because of it.

"Shut the hell up, idiot," He murmured, turning his head away, finding his stride again. "Now I'll say it again: if you're planning to cause trouble...".

Gintoki backed off.

"Pssh, normally I'd say I don't have to justify myself, but 'cause of you my hands are tied. I'm on a walk. Gonna grab a couple drinks, and then turn in for the night and sleep through all the riots and gang wars, oh-woes-me".

"...I guess you've heard of that; the gangs, I mean".

"Sure. Word around here spreads fast. Not like trouble in this town is a secret".

Whether that was beneficial or not was debatable, depending on the trouble. Some things were better left unsaid and yet Kabukicho couldn't give a damn, thereby making Hijikata's job a millions times harder with the press and the interviews and all the stupid questions that couldn't possibly be answered without making the cops look like fools. A double-edged sword - That's what it was!

"Mhm...As long as you're staying out of it...".

"Clearly. Otherwise I wouldn't have walked up to you tonight, all cheery and merry".

"...I suppose".

"Then you've got nothing to worry about".

Saying that was a bit of a stretch. No, Gintoki wasn't his biggest problem tonight. Right now anything in this town could take a turn for the worse and it wouldn't be Gintoki's fault. Wasn't too hard to believe.

"I can't say that for sure. Sougo disappeared a couple hours ago, wandered off, and who knows...He's more troublesome than you could ever dream to be - And that's saying something".

"Heh...".

Gintoki couldn't talk back. True... Sougo Okita was the devil incarnate, only juvenile and as sophisticated in his craft as a sewer rat strutting through the roads of Roppongi Hills. Gintoki would feel sorry for Hijikata having to drag the boy around on a leash day-to-day but the antics were hilarious on a whole other level when at least one of them was the butt of the disgusting, sadistic joke.

"Anyway, I, er, should get back to it," Hijikata said, tossing down his cigarette and crushing it beneath his shoe.

"Go right ahead. Oh, and, if any crimes took place around seven in the evening, anywhere in East Shinjuku and beyond, I got an alibi".

Gintoki was grinning. Harmlessly pushing at Hijikata's buttons to see which one would crack a smile. Bowing his head, hands cupping his hips, Hijikata held in his lip to keep the curve stagnant and his mood straight-laced. He looked Gintoki right in the eyes the next time he raised his head. From there he let the smallest inkling of contentment slip. To be civil for the sake of being civil. Only yesterday they shook hands and, yes, okay, Gintoki had his alibi from seven o'clock but...

"Any time onward, I'll come to you first for questioning".

"Oi, oi, I wouldn't even worry. It's a quiet night, so I doubt anything will-".

["Officers stationed within the Red Light district, please respond"] Hijikata's breast-pocket radio crackled to life. There was a murmur of a voice, heard loud and clear by Hijikata alone as Gintoki stood idly by, uninterested.

Hijikata pressed the receiver on the device.

"This is the Vice-Chief, what's the situation?"

["Vice-Chief, we've received several reports of a fight taking place in Kabukicho's main pedestrian crossing. Two young men. One of them, er..."].

"What? What about one of them? Speak up".

["Er, some of the callers claimed he was, uh...Wearing a district police uniform..."]

The curve of Hijikata's eyebrow twitched. A long, drawn-out silence filled him up...A rage fit to melt from his pores like hot sweat. He disconnected himself from the subordinate hanging on over the line, calling out to him timidly for a response that he may or may not have been afraid to hear.

"...Goddammit...!" Hijikata hissed, briefly making connection again, only to ensure his subordinate that he was on his way to the scene.

"Business as usual, Vice-Commander?" Gintoki, smirking, entered in around here.

"Something like that. Look, I definitely have to go, so, Yaksha...".

"Yeah?"

"You-...You know you should-...Just-".

"I got it, Hijikata. Now buzz off before you try to gimme another handshake. Go knock some heads together, or let down your mighty rage".

"I don't know about that...".

"Well I do. As far as I know now, that's who you are".

Hijikata furrowed his brow, unamused, but was mature enough not to linger while duty called. Following the path, purely from reliable memory, he made a quick dash in the exact direction, towards the pedestrian way. Gintoki watched his back. Swaying back and forth on his heels and toes he pondered whether to grab that drink. If it meant staying out of trouble, especially a street fight, he didn't mind strutting the opposite direction for a final hot serving of sake.

Leave the man to his business and casually slide out of proximity from the fights and gang wars that were destroying a perfectly wonderful district - And the many more that were sure to rage on in the near future. A storm was brewing. Whoever started it must have known what they were in for. Carved their names on the frame of a prison cell themselves. Better yet, the wooden stump that would hold their head, nice and neatly. It was heart-wrenching watching the dozens of district cops around the city get wrapped up in it, despite this being a mere, uncivilised fight in public.

Hijikata, though...To be honest after the other day Gintoki suspected that a couple of thugs brawling over whatever-the-hell were in for a real treat once the Demon stormed the street. A serving of sake sounded nice but...What the hell. A show was a show.

 

7

Men and women were sent running to clear the area. Curious high schooler's considered themselves lucky, so they stayed put to watch a not-so-rare spectacle. No authority was around as of yet to break up the brawl. Two people didn't sound like enough to make too much of a fuss, however the speed and persistence flaying around, creating a bloody and bruised mess had people in a panic.

A uniform so recognisable was hardly ignored by the impressionable people. But when watching closely, police brutality wasn't the first judgement to come to mind - But a violent match between two youngsters who were out of their heads. Splatters of blood swept around a circular spot of the street, constantly moving around as the boys saw fit with every mighty swing of a fist or a leg. Smiles as bright as gold shone through the physical agony and pressure set upon them in the heat of the moment.

Okita threw the next punch sharply through the air. The exhaustion and the strain tightening around his shoulder slowed him down somewhat when the buzz began to gradually die. Kamui reacted quickly in a fit of stoic desperation, wrapping both arms around Okita's when it narrowly missed the cheek, and pulling him in fast to slam both heads together.

The blunt force was shocking; left them both paralysed with a splitting headache and shaken legs. They stumbled backwards, mere centimetres apart to catch bated breath before determining the next move.

Kamui asks crudely, smirking all the while, "What do the police want with me anyway? I'm not actually doing anything!"

"That's not what they think!" Okita wipes the smear of crimson from his lips, finding a joyous and sadistic smirk of his own through the pain. "The fact that you're resisting arrest says a lot, man!"

"Resisting arrest? Now that's inaccurate!"

Kamui lunged forward again once balance was brought back to him in an adrenaline-filled burst of energy. Okita threw up his arms to shield off any blunt pushes of trauma. A crack sounded from the base of his wrist - But barely any thought was put into the consequence of using that arm as a weapon. Kamui stumbled back on impact, allowing Okita to swing forward once again within the gap he was left with.

A feverish, glowing fist smacked the bridge of Kamui's nose during his pause. Again, he stumbled, but kept his feet firmly grounded right after they skid through the dust and across the hard concrete. Both boys catch their breath, refusing to break their cold, hard gaze away from the other.

"You attacked _me,_ officer, without explaining yourself!"

"I think I explained myself plenty! And you're the one who attacked first, runt!"

Okita took another shot. His dominant hand was out of shape so his legs were the alternative. One adrenaline-bound swing of his ankle sent a ripple through Kamui's side. Sure it was painful but the proximity granted him yet another punch, striking Okita's cheek, albeit the force was embarrassingly weak. It was more of a sucker punch to send him stumbling slightly, to set some distance between them.

Kamui clutched the dull ache throbbing around his side in a frail attempt to numb it. Winded, he kept his eyes glaring at Okita, who was also catching his breath, with intent of keeping his wits about him. If he had to dodge he was fully prepared to take a dive and scathe a couple of limbs in the process. By the looks of things the both of them might have been saved the trouble. The grey stare clouding Okita's eyes and the weight of each breath indicated a similar, abashed condition to that of Kamui.

Both young men pulled off a demeaning smirk to keep their pride high and on par with each other.

"If old man Matsudaira is after you, haa, it's gotta be under some special circumstances...If you're innocent you should have no problem answering a couple questions, haa...Right?"

"Haa...Thing is...I don't have time to twiddle my thumbs in a big metal box. I've had enough of them...So if you don't mind getting out of my way..."

Much to Kamui's gradual despair, a click sounded around his wrist. Took a bit of time for him to catch up on that, but when he did, he was frozen on the spot, his smile stuck to his face as a way to light-heartedly cope with the sting of cold metal clutching onto him like a claw of talons.

He looked up, as his assailant was found to be quite tall. Okita followed suit, clicking his tongue and throwing his gaze away to the dirt below in anger and childish frustration. 

"Evening, Kamui..." Said a booming, aggravated voice.

"Evening, Smokey..." Kamui muttered nonchalantly, still smiling.

"Sougo..."

"Yeah, Hijikata-sa-...Ah..."

Okita was thrust forward, grabbed by the collar and pulled in, fast, his head struck by a blunt, unyielding force. The aftermath was dull, burning pain and a nosebleed to compliment the headache.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND?!"

Hijikata's voice echoed. Bouncing around the streets, many could inevitably hear the wrath-engaged cry of a man pushed to the very edge of tolerance and willpower.

"Mmph...Good to see you too, Hijikata-san...".

Okita groaned unpleasantly. The pain bumping around inside his head had left very little energy to backtalk in witticisms or sarcastic quips. The most he could manage was a half-assed greeting. That itself came back as a disappointment, fourfold.

Hijikata remained unaffected in response. A twitch of the eyebrow and nothing more could be labelled as reactionary after that mind-numbing clonk on the head. For all that happened in those two, flashy seconds of pure anger, Kamui was still and collected. A man who had been cuffed to the wrist of a demon walking maintained the most playful smile imaginable for the sake of remaining above water. To be honest he was sticking his nose out from below the pacific ocean and still somehow breathing, but there was always a possibility that the more he chose to thrash around the faster he would suffocate. 

"Kamui," Hijikata murmured "We have a warrant for your arrest, as a suspect in an ongoing investigation. This is in addition to resisting arrest and aggravated assault. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you say can and will be used against you. Sougo, you'd better keep a fast pace. I'll deal with you at the station".

From afar, Gintoki peered at the chaos unfolding during this quiet, supposedly ordinary night. It was in the grey area; the shenanigans to flood this town that shook the very concrete paving the streets. Not much could surprise this man anymore no matter how many street brawls painted the walls red nor how many gangs popped up wearing a new colour and design with the next-best embarrassing name.

Somehow, by chance, Gintoki's eyes caught Hijikata's.

There was a lingering confusion on Hijikata's part, but for Gintoki he had not seen truer colours in the Demonic Vice-Chief since...Since the theatre. These colours were messy and mixed up, but good. Quite the appealing sight in the eyes of an equally messy guy.

Gintoki passed on a smile. He gave away a subtle wave of the hand, to which Hijikata furrowed his brow. So serious...Gintoki, carefree, wandered off behind the crowd and back between the neon signs and dingy scenery. He swore to himself that he had enough excitement for one night. Home was quite a ways, though. The streets were loud, people everywhere...Gintoki was afraid of being kept up for hours if he stepped into another cheap bar, came across another fight or met yet another crazy friend. 

This town was nuts enough to make that a reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to get back into HijiGin stuff. I've missed it...
> 
> But, hey, the new season of Gintama's come out this month, so I can jump right back into the Gintama mood.
> 
> This arc is a bit more easy-going, but that's the intention. Shouldn't be too long either. I want to do at least a little more world-building before getting to the meat of the story and the events that I've been planning out for months. I wanna set up the characters first (really enjoyed writing Kamui's part, by the way) and then let the story play out.


	6. A Town Like Kabukicho Arc: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it, guys, I updated
> 
> This is the only other chapter I'm doing for this arc. It's a short arc, but that's the point. Want to move onto the story and get things rolling at a good, solid pace.

Bloody speckles appeared and vanished under a painful, bleak blur. White tiles like that of a bathroom or boxed funhouse cell, as Kamui imagined it. Through the mouth, he breathed heavily; the course of his nostrils plugged up by cheap, raggedy tissue paper that scratched at the skin. A dull ache throbbed around his head and his eyes were en route to rolling backwards into his skull if the agony persisted.

His wrists had been squeezed to a purple pulp underneath these cuffs that were purposefully snapped on tightly, courtesy of the demon filling paperwork in the other room. Kamui smiled through the pain. The horrific end to raising his head up even while the bump protruding there was worth saving face. He couldn't bare to admit that he had broken due to the poking and prodding of the pigs.

Awfully embarrassing. Rumours had not yet reached their peak and were nothing but a mere flame flickering in the community, causing no harm nor panic. A total let-down. To be pushed to the ground so easily...And here Kamui thought this town's police had sunk below rock bottom, underneath tax-payers money and the government's delicious praise and spunk.

He chuckles out loud. A couple officers, including women - an unexpected audience - turned their heads in disgust towards the excitement blaring in his eyes. When dragged off into isolation, the waters of madness spewed from his mouth like drool. The image stuck in the heads of the more impressionable officers who spent all these years pushing pencils. The ordeals faced in training meant nothing to them now. They weren't prepared for Kamui.

"Officer~. Officer Toushiro-san~, why am I being arrested? I don't quite understand...".

"Yes you do, you bastard".

"You might wanna tone-down the profanity there - It's not setting a good example for your subordinates in the other room, right? Right, you guys?!"

The noise hardly mattered in here. A space where few could actually hear Kamui's insane, acted-out ramblings was convenient. Only Hijikata had sat down to tolerate this baby-faced delinquent one-on-one. Raring to go as always. The other three sat patiently behind the lengthy mirror, watching from a not-so-secret room in a state of silent concentration to the boy's every word. Kamui's experience was key to his confidence here.

"Haa...Listen, Kamui. This is an investigation, and you are a person of interest. If you cooperate, we'll make sure they keep your food warm in the pen".

"Very kind of you".

"First we're gonna wait for a lawyer to get here. Since you don't have one, because of course you don't, you'll be assigned a defence. It's how this works. And since we can't reach your Father, we'll notify your current legal guardian. Again, as registered. If evidence arises that you are somehow involved in this case, you'll face a jury of your peers, and...I'm sure you get the rest. The other crimes committed tonight are a different matter that will be addressed in the process. Understand?"

"I'm shocked, sir. I thought you'd be taking a less civil approach".

"I can change that if it suits your sick tastes".

"Hmhm..."

The way Kamui spoke was a clear indication that he fully intended to push Hijikata's buttons during this gruelling process. A voice inside Hijikata's head moaned, believing this to be a pointless exercise that could sadly amount to jack-shit. On the other hand it was worth a try. If all these taxing years on the force had taught him a damn thing it's that no sliver of information is totally useless. When faced with a runt this feral and cunning Hijikata was essentially putting all of that to the test.

"I'm just going to ask you a number of questions, and if your alibi checks out then there's a fair chance you'll be let out".

"Then let's get it over with. I have absolutely nothing to hide".

"If that were the case I wouldn't have had to cuff your hands behind your back".

"Look at you treating me like a feral animal - I take back everything I said," Kamui said calmly, still smiling - Holding back the need to show any condescending feelings towards the Vice-Chief; as evident in the slight twitch jerking the corner of his lips every so often. 

"Whatever," Hijikata responded indifferently. All he needed to maintain was a calm demeanour and a wise choice of words. If he could manage that then there was a chance to break though. "Alright, first question...".

Hijikata was cautious as not to allow his attention to drift. The mirror adorning the wall was just that; a wall, on this side of the room anyway - A white space of concrete and paint to keep the ceiling up. Not surprising that Kamui was aware of the room present on the other side but nothing changed. Not only did Hijikata commit himself to carefully studying the boy's body language, he was wary to keep his own in check. Weakness came in different sour flavours. Any one of them, no matter how subtle, could tip the scales of this interrogation.

Dramatic as it may have been, anything was necessary to balance out this intense atmosphere. 

Those observing in the other room were aware of this themselves. In the dim shadows only the shine of a red camera spot lit the very corner of the room. A folder lay open upon the one and only table, it's most distinct feature on first glance being the two-year-old pristine photograph of a young boy beaten black and blue. Still, he smiled - He always found the energy to grin.

"Vice-Chief is really cracking down, huh?" One of the younger uniforms mumbled quietly, intentionally keeping his two other subordinates within range of the conversation. It indicated an unnecessary consciousness of Kamui's close quarters, that he could in fact hear them loud and clear.

"That goes without saying," A close subordinate in his late twenties sat at the table, skimming the file, discontented by the photograph provided. "This kid's pretty tough, and even that's an understatement. Only Hijikata-san and Okita-kun can handle a monster like him face-to-face".

"Wait, that kid's been here before?"

"A couple times, yeah. This's the first time he's been locked up in months. Makes you wonder where he's been all this time".

"That could be very vital information as of late," said Kondo, who stood close to the mirror, solemn, arms crossed, eyes affixed to the scene taking place beyond the one-way mirror. "What matters is if Toshi can coax it out of him. He'll have to be smart about it. But I have the utmost faith that he'll pull through".

The almost one-sided discussion between Hijikata and Kamui cut back. Its tone was muffled beneath the echo of the room. A prickling chill hung up above their heads between their hard gazes. One was more laid-back while the other was naturally straight-laced. Deciphering between the two was a no-brainer from the way they openly spouted confidence.

"-Where is it you work exactly? Part-time, I assume".

"The recycling factory up yonder. After my service, they liked me so much they gave me a job - How 'bout that...It's the only one for miles, but it isn't too far away from Kabukicho if you know where you're going. And, no, actually, I'm a full-time employee as of three months ago".

"That right? 'Kay. How often do you attend work?"

"I was working forty-five hours last week, so I didn't have much personal time. You can confirm all that information with my boss, too".

"I'll be sure to do that. Recent witnesses have confirmed that you're never alone around Kabukicho - You're always around at least one guy or a group of older men. Are any of them your subordinates?"

"At the recycling plant? You can also confirm those details with my employer if you wish, Vice-Commander. There's no need to ask me".

"I wouldn't mind hearing names, Kamui".

"Names?"

Kamui tilted his head, imitating a confused puppy. Strange thing was the stupidity of his expression appeared genuine. If only Hijikata lacked the common knowledge and balls of a life-long cop, Kamui might have been skilled enough to avoid the question entirely.

"Now here's where the problem lies, Officer. Me and my subordinates are more fond of nicknames; easier to remember when working, especially if you're an idiot like me who forgets such and such at the drop of a hat".

Conveniently so.

Without resistance or effort Hijikata reached for a cigarette from the inner pocket of his uniform jacket, eyes affixed to Kamui's. He dragged the available ashtray forward. All the build-up in his lungs left him aching for nicotine. Another's presence hardly mattered, nor did the smell that would permeate the room unless someone kicked up their heels and sprayed the damn place down.

Kamui's pupils flickered to the flash of fire and the swirl of smoke. Otherwise, he was completely unfazed. Smiling still. On the verge of grinning.

"Is that really your answer?" Hijikata asked, blowing the smoke wayward in Kamui's direction.

"Um, yeah? That's my answer," He was calm. Baring his teeth happily. "I have nothing more to add".

Hijikata inhaled a heavy puff into his lungs. Not a breeze of wind passed through this air-tight room so naturally Hijikata's expression was fogged by unsightly clouds of viciously-scented smoke. It faded. A darkness loomed in his eyes. Solemn, bored, unmoved by Kamui's ambiguity and obvious disinterest to give proper responses.

"...Very well. Moving on...".

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. A chair so stiff and hard that leaning back appeared to be more of a feat than it should have been. Hijikata handled it without so much as flinching.

"Next question".

...

All that was left on the agenda was to question the incident with Sougo. Didn't take too long - His answers were as expected; claims of self-defence from a sadistic cop's joyride. Hijikata was unfortunate to find a dead-end there. No arguments could counter the fact that Okita was a colossal moron.

Kamui was escorted to a cell to await bail. Whether it would come that night was...Honestly, after picking up the phone to hear an answering machine, no one would bat an eye at the kid if he was stuck here all night. The name listed as his legal guardian was shocking at first, then the feeling numbed gradually knowing the man himself would likely never show up to a police station to pick up a good-for-nothing ruffian like Kamui.

Hijikata went his own way while Kamui sank all his energy inside that cramped cell. He met with Kondo outside of his office by coincidence, but it led to a quiet discussion anyway.

"Toshi, did you pick up on anything? You were in the same room, after all...".

"He has an alibi alright," Hijikata sighed, wafting away the scent of his cigarette. Kondo didn't comment on it yet; not that it mattered much now. "But it's vague and only elevates my suspicions. Yes, they are only suspicions, but...I believe the Harasume is involved somehow. All those lowlifes that swarm around Kamui; the Harasume's activity expanded at the same time they got out of the pen. I can't help but wonder if they're involved in the recent kidnappings - It's a fair assumption, right?"

"But it is only that. Do you know how to go about this?"

"I'm gonna conduct an investigation on his buddies. I don't think the kidnappings will stop if Kamui's in jail, but that doesn't account for his subordinates. That recycling factory is between Kabukicho and it's outskirts; if they're involved the factory might be some kind of hideout - A large building with a basement to store cargo, maybe. It's our only lead right now, but it's better than nothing at all".

Saying so was honestly painful. A kick in the ribs for a man so proud of his work. Either this or nothing, those were his options. Wouldn't have made much difference if a thug asked him, grinning, "teeth or your balls? Either way I'll bash them in real good". Chin up, Hijikata intended to see his choices through to the end. Kondo respectfully nodded along in time with Hijikata's wishes.

Kondo was the kind, honourable chief but Hijikata was always the brains, he couldn't be denied of that position.

"I'll keep a squad out on the streets," Kondo suggested with at least a glimmer of self-confidence. "The least we can do is watch every corner of Kabukicho for precautions sake".

"Yeah...Thanks, Kondo-san".

Hijikata started towards the door in plain sight. The coolness of the glass brushed his skin, inviting him inside. His hand hovered eagerly above the handle when a large hand grasped his shoulder, twisting his focus glacially.

"Oh, and Toshi," Kondo added, trying to put on a warm-hearted smile for the sake of his next, far more implausible request. "What do you think we should do about Sougo?"

He asked at first - However there was obviously no urgency that existed as far as Hijikata could hear. The man was a transparent pane of uncertainty, itching for Hijikata to bare grounded answers. No rolling of the eyes or cold sighs came about. For Kondo, Hijikata was a forgiving man.

"You're the boss, Kondo-san. Well, next to old man Matsudaira. That kid isn't always my responsibility - And this time he's really fucked things up. He'll listen to you".

Begrudgingly Hijikata couldn't hold a saucer of water to those words. He heard the tremble from the edges of his throat, coughed them up, and proceeded to grasp the doorknob a second time, anticipating the relief of freedom from work in order to quietly return to...work.

"He listens, Toshi, but he doesn't follow through. I've never been so tight-fisted as to severely discipline him, but you...".

No, hard to imagine a ball of blubber like Kondo suddenly forming edges in domestic disputes. It wasn't unfair to say he was soft on Okita like an older brother is to a much younger, distant relative. He was polite and kind to the point when it was borderline doting. A distant relative was suddenly the little brother. Hijikata was stuck on the perch, intimidating and hellish; like a mother.

"So, what, you want me to beat him to a pulp?"

"Now, now, don't lose your head just yet. To an extent, I can understand your feelings, but in the end you're supposed to be the adult. Be firm, not juvenile or brutish, you know?"

"Haahh...Fine. I'll teach him a lesson, although you're supposed to be more suited for the job. I'll drill it through into his very bones until he understands".

"That's the spirit. I'll leave you to it then - Just don't kill the boy".

"Oh I'll try my hardest...".

Not a single shred of worry in his eyes, Kondo slapped Hijikata's shoulder, walking out of sight. He wasn't straying too far from Okita's general direction, where the kid was quietly serving his sentence in a lifeless corner - Feigning his self-reflection and remorse. Must have held onto cautionary thoughts, hoping Hijikata wouldn't bust the boy's nose open, brazenly labelling it as "tough love" or a phrase of the like.

While Kondo carried on his merry way, Hijikata pressed his feet to the ground swiftly. Stomping around the ground floor and pre-preparing assertiveness was a waste of strength. All Hijikata's will-power went into deciding an efficient punishment. Ironically nothing he could conjure up would prove efficient nor punishable. There was a very problematic reason or two behind that.

The corner reaches of the station was where Okita sat twiddling his thumbs, bored out of his mind more than he was regretful. Hijikata stood by behind the corner for a minute, observing this embodiment of apathy wearing a young man's baby face. Clenching his fists tightly, Hijikata repressed the urge to throw them.

"You know," He started, boldly, approaching Okita swiftly. Okita took his time to give his superior any attention. "I could suspend you until you're thirty-one, I could beat the living shit out of you until you pass out - But you'd still come back eventually, and I know you, for whatever fucking reason, can't learn your lesson".

"This shit again?" Okita had the gaol to sigh, expressing nothing but boredom and utter contempt. The boy was stuck between Hell and a hard place, yet he managed to sweep it all under the rug - Knowing exactly what Hijikata just said was the truth. "If you know that, what's the point dumping me in the naughty corner, eh? It's tiresome".

"You don't think I'm tired of this myself? I'm not your goddamn mother yet I always have to play the part; get you to sit down and behave yourself".

"And can I say you're doing a superb job".

"Shut your mouth you brat. I know...How about I make a phone call? Get you moved out of Tokyo into a more comfortable residence; somewhere you can take genuine responsibility".

Hijikata always refrained from spouting such an undisguised threat. Kondo advised him to let the subject slide, but right now Hijikata was too tired and too irritated to care.

"You wouldn't dare".

"Try me".

"..."

"I'll take that silence as you understanding. Now, I think we should employ some suffering while you're stuck here, as an alternative. Follow me - And don't drag your feet".

Tempted to do just that, Okita hesitated to follow Hijikata's back. Evidently he'd rather be dragged along by the ankles across a floor of sandpaper and broken glass than obediently slide through the halls under Hijikata's commanding shadow. A quick glance and Okita was unfortunately met with the only pair of eyes in the entire station that could push him forward. He encountered Kondo of all people at a distance. Instead of kindly smiling as per usual he firmly nodded, arms crossed, back straight.

Admittedly he found himself easily swayed by Kondo. He couldn't throw a tantrum over that fact to boot...He simply couldn't. A man such as Okita would succumb to swallowing ill-feelings beneath the heel of authority at some point in his life. It wasn't an unusual occurrence for anyone in Okita's low-ranking position - in any workplace - just one of inconvenience.

An intense flood of dread coursed crudely around the pit of Okita's stomach seeing Hijikata leer on towards the men's restroom. All of said dread was confirmed mere seconds later when he was officially led into the dingy, dark room.

Hijikata sparked up the ceiling light which momentarily flickered on and off, unstable after years of men going in and out of this particular room on an hourly basis. Residing ominously in the corner was a gross display of a rusted bucket and a scrubbing brush that fit inside some sort of plastic dish.

"Clean-up duty should suffice until I come up with something more taxing," said Hijikata, pointing directly to the bucket from a clean distance.

"You've gotta be shitting me...".

Pure disdain and burning anger. No other intense, pessimistic emotion could begin to describe the course furrow in Okita's brow nor the clench in his teeth.

"I'll upgrade you to a brand-new mop after about a week - And that's if you clean the grime and crust outta the floor tiles".

"How long do I have to keep doing this?"

"Don't know yet. Depends how willing you are to behave in the future," Cold and distant, Hijikata pushed past Okita and re-entered the offices. He grasped the door handle, and stared Okita right in the eye with these parting words: "Happy scrubbing, Sougo".

As if to reinforce his more mature standing on the matter, Hijikata refrained from posing a smirk or any kind of condescending expression for that matter.

"Tch! Son of a-... _bitch_!!"

In private, Okita flipped his lid. Brought his foot swinging, thwacking the nearest toilet stall, hard. Its walls vibrated with a tremendous thud, the nails and latches holding it in place rattling violently. He'd happily tear the whole place apart if it didn't inevitably add onto his workload, courtesy of the demonic Vice-Commander.

...

"God~, I'm beat...Oi, Senpai, can't we get some sushi or somethin' after this job? I'm starvin'...".

"Don't you eat anything else?"

"Don't got time to make anythin' proper. Been busy roundin' up all the thugs who're takin' dumps on our turf".

"Still, you'll get sick like that, I daresay".

"And what. It's gonna take a lot more than that ta kill me".

For a body so small her stomach matched up to the size of her unrelenting mouth. Matako cricked her neck here and there to release all the pent-up stress from the past week. The process of adjusting the bones and muscles correctly was something of a ritual now. Pain in the ass ritual, that is. Another day without a homemade meal. Her tolerance for the same foods was a marvel to witness first hand by Bansai who was dragged around town, deemed her drinking buddy for as long as this girl was legally allowed to take however many shots of sake she could handle.

"It ain't that late, so we should hit the nearest sushi bar and hope it ain't a crap-shack".

"Sure," Bansai sighed subtly as though to hide his discontent with Matako's need to ignore whatever advice he offered, this being a common occasion after only a year of following behind him rather than right by his side. "But let's stay focused first".

"Wish Shinsuke-sama would come with us; he needs a vacation".

"That isn't our decision, unfortunately. Given his position, vacation days aren't exactly ideal".

"He could at least come out for a couple hours...".

"Not tonight. Even I'm heading back to the office later to assist with work".

"It's because of those damn Ikeda's! Whatever they're up ta they've just piled more work on top of Shinsuke-sama!"

"It's frustrating, I know, but we can't exactly barge into their headquarters and start a riot. We need to be cautious, I daresay".

"Hmph!"

A turn around the corner, out of the main pedestrian streets, lay an alley in isolation. There was neon and an atmosphere like that of a shantytown, with stone steps steering far down into the depths of the unexpected. Still, these two didn't hesitate to take easy-going strides into the darkness. The third door to their right was the most eye-catching, having studied it inch-by-inch from a mere photograph taken for future reference, such as moments like this.

Balling up his huge fist, Bansai rhythmically slammed on the wood of the door - Three times, then once, then three times again. He glanced at Matako from behind the shades covering his eyes, finding her composure admirable for someone of her stature. She didn't take notice of it. Though there was no way she could, not with those glasses on, not in this shade. She kept her arms crossed firmly and her heel tapping the pavement with impatience.

"Who's there?" A stern voice approached them from the other side of the door, to which Bansai responded with the same tone and fearless manner.

"The Takasugi family".

"C'mon, Furakawa-san! Let's get this over with".

The door may have jutted open only slightly but the man on the other side was in clear view. Scruffy and unprepared for any formal meetings he looked to his visitors in calm irritation rather than quivering anxiety. So far no rash moves had to be made. Simply depended on this guy's split-second decision to let them in or to stupidly leave them hanging outside.

"Come on in then - Gimme two seconds to grab my stash".

Bansai and Matako both boldly shuffled on inside past dingy floorboards and the thick aroma of cheap sake wafting the air. Not too long ago had it been shared, as Bansai determined quietly. Not surprising, too, given the company surrounding the few tables set up around the floor.

"Evenin', Kawakami-han~. Lookin' as sharp as ever". One of the men - slightly overweight and clearly intoxicated - hiccupped a slurred greeting. Bansai didn't pay it much mind.

"W-woah! Yo, Kawakami-san, is that a chick?!"

All that were present took one glance at Matako, soon making it all too obvious that they were staring. Despite their sluggish conditions they could spot a woman from a mile away if she was short in stature and sporting a skirt. As if to quietly follow Bansai's lead Matako refrained from reacting to their comments.

"She's really cute too...She your lady friend?"

"If it were like that, why would I bring her to a desolate place like this? Kijima is a subordinate".

"Oiii, Kawakami-han~, since when do you boys let broads do all the dirty work?"

"I was wonderin' if you were dragging her along for business or pleasure for a second there~".

"I thought it was both!"

"Puahahaha!"

An explosion of laughter had Matako twitching, frustrated.

"Ya don't ever see chicks gettin' involved in the yakuza - Must be scrapin' the bottom of da barrel for her to be working underneath the gr-eat Shinsuke Takasugi~".

"Are you, sweetheart? You know...Working _underneath_ his greatness. Helluva easy job - Can't imagine ya doin' much else, hahaha!"

"Tch! Bastards...Ya pickin' a fight?!"

Thoughtlessly in a complete bad-shit shot of rage Matako reached for her piece with her dominant hand. Having Bansai stand closely by her right side had become her safety pin. He gripped her arm tightly as soon as she flinched for the weapon; a bloody gun of all things! The girl wasn't intending to scare the shit out of a group of attackers, she was prepared to shoot up a bar full of drunken lowlifes.

"Hey, not in the shop!" Furakawa shot out from the other room, panicked. He calmed himself seeing Bansai had quietly taken care of the situation. "Can't have the pigs rush over here at the sound of gunfire - So all of ya, keep your mouths shut. And Kawakami-sama, you need to control that lady of yours".

"It's not up to me what she does. We only came here to collect what we're owed, and we'll be on our way. If your boys decide to pick a fight with any member of the yakuza, then they'll face the consequences without fail. We're not the type of people you can just step on, I daresay - Matako, especially, isn't one to take insults lightly. Trust me on that. Of course, this isn't the time and place, so I daresay you got off lucky".

"...Yeah, I gotcha. A-and don't start throwing your fists just yet. You know me; never late with a payment - Not since I started business anyhow".

"How diligent of you," Matako clicked her tongue, shafting her elbow out of Bansai's grip.

"Woulda delivered the cash straight to your HQ, but there're cops everywhere lately - Scuttling around like rats".

"Yeah, we noticed".

"Oi, you guys hear about the underworld's recent activity? If the cops are this thorough somethin' musta slipped through the cracks".

"And yet everybody's got their heads turned," One of the less intoxicated customers slurred his words under his breath. "Guess the news hasn't covered it yet".

"Nah," Furakawa added. "Seems they're keeping it hush-hush from the public, and even the criminal rings are keeping a lid on it - Not that it's any of my business. Quite literally. People are overrated, that's why I deal happy pills and mushrooms, y'know?"

"That's interesting, but it's none of our business either," Bansai said, securing the envelope of counted cash inside his suit jacket. "As long as it doesn't effect Shinsuke then we can stay out of it. Whatever heinous crimes are being committed in the underworld, none of it is exactly new".

"Very true," Furakawa nodded.

"So we're staying out of it; carrying on with our own work".

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You families always look out for yourselves, don't matter if innocent people get hurt, right?"

"Whatever you say, Furakawa," Matako cut in, nudging Bansai elbow-to-elbow. "...Senpai, we're done, right? Let's get goin' already".

"Right. Thank you for your cooperation".

"Anytime, Kawakami-sama. I'll get the rest to ya next week. Gotta deal coming through, so if it goes off without a hitch-".

"-You're debt should be repaid".

"You got it".

Not a moment's hesitation before Bansai led the way out. A dozen eyes crudely followed Matako out the door; all were smart enough to stop following her. They cruised down the dark path back towards the light. All the while, Matako relaxed herself, stretching her slender arms up to the sky.

"That went smoother than expected," She moaned, releasing her chest of air.

"If I hadn't stopped you, then, no, it wouldn't have".

"Hmph...Well, they pissed me off - Buncha drunken fatasses spouting Shinsuke-sama's name with their filthy mouths! Ugh...I feel all gross now...Can we go to the bathhouse after grabbing a bite?"

"You can go to the bathhouse by yourself - Did you forget? I'm busy tonight".

"Oh, right, well ya can still grab food with me~. Come on, Senpai!"

She nudged him again. Matako must have been unaware of her habit to smack, nudge or flat-out strike people when she was in a bouncy mood. Unaware of her own strength the impact could sometimes be quite painful, leaving a bruise or burn mark. 

"You're relentless. Fine. But I won't stay long".

"Fine by me! Just as long as you order something this time, and stop making me feel like a pig".

"That's because you order too much".

"Argh - Shut up".

Matako playfully swung her foot at Bansai's shin. He narrowly dodged, carrying on his stroll, deadpan and uncaring of her behaviour.

...

After a while a man's beeper, when set off multiple times within the span of a few days, starts to wear him down as the exact same noise embeds itself into his mind. Therefore it's understandable that Gintoki dragged on each bored groan when the binging hummed inside his pant's pocket. He checked the screen, hoping to God this was the last time he'd hear it tonight.

What appeared was a code that was indeed decipherable but quite rare.

_"Get your ass over here. Angel's Nest. Now"._

With the location in order the only other factor that Gintoki had to go on about the sender was the needlessly aggressive tone. He sighed, defeated. Looks like he wasn't heading home just yet. This was the first time he was requested to come to this particular cabaret with such urgency. It couldn't possibly be for nothing. An emergency of sorts? He thought about calling in but decided against it quickly enough knowing that the club wasn't too far away, from where he was standing.

Thin, tied up hair, flat chest, the most average-looking, least average, woman in all of Kabukicho stumbled down the street and into Gintoki's sights.

"Yo, Otae-san". He greeted her normally. Casually, he approached her. On second thought he chose to remain vigilant, having understood the tone of her previous message.

For such a high-maintenance woman, she was acting cool while all eyes were on her. Or she simply didn't have a reason to be on guard tonight.

Otae was a surprise. Any pleasant tingle from that surprise was debatable, depending on the units of Dom Perignon currently rushing through her bloodstream like morphine. However much her clients liked to drink, Otae would gladly follow suit if it meant a free glass of booze to numb the misery of chatting up guys with too much time on their hands and cash in their wallets.

If she was drunk, though, that was a whole other ball game; with sharp rocks and nails haphazardly drilled into the player's shoes. Clouded eyes and an angry, unwelcoming attitude to boot.

An image like that pulled Gintoki way back to his early twenties when he woke up on the floor next to his bed, absorbing all of those sensations at once. All he remembered was the social event or weekend trip to the local bar that coaxed him into wasting the lining of his liver like it was nothing more than the bottom of a plastic bag, ruined by spilled milk and beer. He had no good reason to fall into total forgetfulness as long as it was a good time.

"What's with the sudden message? You need something?"

"Oh, heyy, Gin-san~". Otae moaned, unbalanced as she swayed. "What took ya so loonngg?"

"What is it, Otae? Did you need a ride home - Cause I didn't bring my scooter. Your place isn't that far away anyhow. Are you just lazy? Since when am I your taxi, woman?"

"It isn't like that, Gin-san. A pretty wealthy customer dropped by and...". Wait for it... "He was in a really good mood".

Wait for it...

"And?"

"And! He ordered a lot of booze so I just...".

She just...

"Followed suit".

Hit the nail on the head. Hit it hard enough until something started bleeding.

"So? That hasn't stopped you from getting home yourself before".

"This is different, trust me. Haven't you seen the number of policemen lately?"

"Too many if ya ask me".

"I heard from one of the girls that a cabaret hostess from another establishment disappeared - It's awful...So...".

"So you need a body-guard?"

"Pfft, what? No~. Not a body-guard - A witness. I swear if anybody tries to take me away, I need someone to claim to a court of law!...That it was self-defence...".

"In the first place, I don't know what weirdo on earth would wanna kidnap a lanky, chest-less gorilla like-Kaakh!"

A fist that must have been cascaded in skin-toned iron came thrusting against Gintoki's face at the speed of light. No time for a womanly, offended slap - But a sucker-punch at full-force. Gintoki sputtered blood from both his mouth and through his aching, throbbing nose.

"S-second..." He coughed, spitting red residue to the ground. "Was Shinpachi not available?"

"I wouldn't want him to worry about me. Plus, he isn't really a street fighter like you, Gin-san. If he ever got caught up in this, I couldn't bear to see him hurt".

"I think Patsuan's right to be worried...Just not about any kidnapper or filthy stalker, that's for sure".

"What was that, Gin-san?"

"Nothing - Nothing at all. I wanna keep all my adult teeth while I'm still somewhat young, thanks".

Gintoki couldn't whole-heartedly walk away without feeling a tinge of guilt, a bludgeoned weight that smacked him in the mouth and made him bleed goddammit. A short walk was all it would take. She'd hardly argue if he kept his mouth shut the whole time too. God knows what would happen if he slipped up and called her a gorilla again. Honesty is a cruel thing that can't make up its damn mind on when's a good time to be honest or when you get corkscrewed for it.

He agreed to escort her home.

What's the worst that could happen? No, seriously. Who would want to kidnap this woman? She was a walking ditch; you swerve in the wrong direction, and you end up crashing and burning. Some bruises were still apparent around Gintoki's upper body.

"Gin-san, what happened to your hands?"

Funny, she genuinely sounded concerned. Or overly-curious. Just as Gintoki recalled past aches and pains from this very she-beast, she glances at his beaten, blistered hands with a glimmer of worry in her voice.

"Work happened. It's not a big deal".

"You've got to be more careful. You remember last month when-".

"-They found a silver-haired yakuza's body in the Kanda River-".

"-And Shin-chan-".

"-Got himself worked-up thinking it was me. I know, Otae. I'm aware. But he should know by now that I don't go down that easy".

Gintoki wasn't involved himself, he never saw the old guy's cold, dead face. According to some of the other low-rankers in other families it was a stomach-turning sight. The guy was past his prime, couldn't do the job anymore and thought his boss couldn't do anything for him except kick him out. All those years spent in the yakuza and the guy was never promoted; he got nothing so he made off with a bag of stolen cash for his retirement and, well...It ended as such, at the bottom of the Kanda River.

"He was a complete mess, Gin-san - Clingier than usual".

Gintoki's ears adjusted to the sound of Otae's voice again. The story about the old river fish dispersed and his attention returned to the conversation at hand.

"I don't think he can cling onto you anymore than he already does," Gintoki muttered, digging his little finger into his ear canal for a pick. "The complex between you two is...staggering, to say the least".

"Stop joking around for a sec', will you?"

"...".

"I may be a bit tipsy but I'm gonna tell you seriously that...If you can't get out of this line of work-"

"-I really can't".

"-Just watch yourself. Even try taking on less dangerous jobs if you can. I don't think I need to lecture you about Shin-chan and Kagura to boot".

"You kinda already did, but I got it, Otae".

Glancing his way left little attention on the road ahead. Hazy in the head, Otae stumbled over thin air. Gintoki was quick to catch her. Simply by pulling her arm back did she stop and gain her balance again.

"Oi, take it easy. You being drunk is a million times more dangerous than my job, I'll tell ya that right now".

"Yeah right...Haa, I just need some sleep. It's been a looong day...". Otae took back her own footing, but just barely kept herself upright.

"You can say that again".

"It's been a looooooon-".

"Yeah, okay, I didn't mean-...Whatever. Here, you need my shoulder?"

"Don't be stupid, I can manage". She was blunt but didn't reject his offer in total disgust. Quite the change from spitting words at him.

"Suit yourself". In return he didn't insist endlessly.

"An' since when did you act like such a gentleman?"

"Since I discovered the feeling of throwing yourself around, shitfaced".

Again, the days of being twenty-one and free had its downsides if you had no idea what the limits of moderation were. Or what common sense was for that matter.

"You're such an idiot sometimes".

"If you're talking about getting shitfaced, I guess that makes you an idiot too".

"Shut it, at least I don't take a piddle in a back alley when I'm drunk".

"Least I don't randomly assault innocence when I'm drunk".

"Who said it was random? And what jackass said that gorilla was an innocent?"

"Fair enough. Oi, seriously, I think you need a hand - You're stumbling around like...Well, like a drunk old man".

"Shuddap".

"You sound like one too".

"Gin-san-".

"Yep, yep, yep - I know! I got it! I wanna keep all my teeth! I wanna keep all my teeth, so just chill. Christ...".

...

A radio stationed behind the sushi bar serving counter crackled on irritably. Sitting only a few chairs away, down the bar, was Matako. She bared with it for a while but the broadcast wasn't worth listening to, according to the woman herself.

["-Earlier today, Shigeshige Tokugawa made his grand speech over potential bill proposals and campaigns in contrast to his opponent-].

"Oi, Pops, turn that crap off, will ya? I'm just about at my wits end with politics".

One chef in particular had leaned in close to the radio while his co-workers took heed around the bar, serving sushi in the dozens. He smiled politely at Matako, though it appeared forced, knowing her place in the blink of an eye.

"Aw, but it's the elections, Miss - This' an important occasion".

"It's not like you're missin' anything. Everybody already knows who they're voting for - Includin' you, prob'ly. Right, Bansai-Senpai?"

Matako nudged Bansai, who quietly sat next to her in front of a small serving of weak sake and a schedule book filled to the brim with notes. She was gentle about it this time, patiently waiting for a biased response.

"I'm staying out of this one, I daresay". Sadly for her he failed to deliver.

She scowled unpleasantly. Again, he slid out of her view, refusing to make eye-contact if it turned out to be a death sentence.

"Oi, come on, Hiroki-kun," Another employee jabbed him on the shoulder, already urging him to step away from the radio. "Get back to work - We've got more customers comin' in".

"Haa, yes, sir".

The crackling of the radio came to an abrupt stop with the flick of a dial. Matako gave no indication of relief. She merely settled into her seat, quiet.

"I can somewhat understand your grievances," Bansai began, lifting a couple plates of fresh sushi from the conveyer belt. "But given our position, shouldn't you be paying more attention to the political scene?"

"It ain't any of my business. Besides, I can't keep up with it - That's all Shinsuke-sama, you and even Takechi-Senpai. Me and Okada-Senpai are all body and sword, that's all. Though that pro'ly ain't that reassuring, comin' from a chick and a blind guy".

Matako's shoulders slumped. Her expression fell into a glum furrow of the brow. The sushi on her plate went untouched, rather, she poked at it with her chopsticks solemnly.

"What those men said before, is it actually getting to you?"

"It always does, one way or another," Matako admitted, attempting to make her voice sound less depressed and more casual, to brush away all the ill-feelings that came with the earlier incident. "Course that's not gonna discourage me - I'd fight for Shinsuke-sama no matter what some assholes say, but...I dunno. You'd think I'd get used to that kinda smack-talk by now".

"You might have to get used to it, yeah. But inside headquarters, you're seen as one of our strongest. Keep that in mind".

"Thanks, Senpai. God it just pisses me off, though!"

"Don't worry about it. I don't think you're totally alone when it comes to feeling weakened by other's empty words".

"Huh? Why's that?"

"...Nothing. Ignore me".

"Geez! If ya wanted to cheer me up, at least finish your damn sentence!"

Actually Bansai would whole-heartedly say that he did a good job. Though tormented by his words, she seemed chipper. Didn't take a great length of time to restore her confidence. Bansai wished he could elaborate his statement about weakness and so on...However he felt it wasn't his place to discuss it over a minor incident that temporarily wavered Matako's will-power. So he remained quiet. Kept it to himself, for now.

Flicking his wrist, Bansai gazed upon the face of his watch. Deadpan and undisturbed by how swiftly the time flew by, he stood up from his chair.

"I should get going," He said as he stood. "Can't keep Shinsuke waiting".

"Aww, well, fine".

"Are you actually upset that I'm leaving?"

"Ugh! No! Like hell I am! Off you go, Senpai~, don't let me stop you".

"Hm, well, this should cover my half of the bill, though it isn't much". Bansai took out his wallet and, like he clearly stated, he didn't take out much. Then again he didn't hop on Matako's bandwagon with a two-page list of everything he planned to eat. He picked what was cheapest and that was that.

"So I guess that means I'm paying for most of this then".

"You did eat the most between us - Don't give me that look".

"I ain't givin' ya a look! Now shoo. Have a safe trip, Senpai". She begrudgingly sank into the table, fiddling with her chopsticks until she was grasping them correctly.

"You too, though I doubt I have much to worry about".

"You bet. See ya tomorrow~".

"...".

Swiftly Bansai made a quiet exit, the last thing he heard being one of the employees cheerfully thanking him for his patronage, though, again, it wasn't much. Returning to headquarters alone left room for personal thoughts to jump around here and there. Not having Matako strolling beside him speaking her mind was unusual. He was quite used to her company.

Bansai recalled those couple years spent in her presence rather than directly keeping her company. The obligation he faced to work with her under Takasugi's request. It was an obligation, in the beginning. Test upon test that only served to humour a little fish attempting to swim in the deep, deep ocean. He didn't know what to think of her. Matako was probably unsure herself. But at the same time she sparkled with confidence that would eventually grow, leaving the boisterous, radical spirit today that refuses to take out her special hair pin for a second and always resorts to her guns when insulted.

A smile appeared across Bansai's lips. Only when that brazen woman jumped out of her shell did Bansai understand Takasugi's thought process the first time they met this one little girl with a heart as big as her puppy-dog eyes. Not so much a puppy and more of a...feral terrier.

Good grief...

...

"Mmmmnnnn...Gin-san, are you drunk or somethin'? You're swayin' around like God-knows-what".

"Maybe if you didn't put all your weight on top of me, I'd have more balance - But I guess we're doing this!"

One stupid trip and fall too many left Gintoki with a conscious decision that literally weighed him down to the ground, dragging his feet and gripping onto an almost limp body with injured hands. He carried Otae on his back which, according to her drunk ass, was permission to doze off on top of him. Somehow she gained the impression that she in fact weighed absolutely nothing - That Gintoki had muscles and backbones made solely of titanium and sheer manly will-power.

Lucky for him they weren't too far away from the house now. What hurt him the most was the slow pace he was having to walk from the moment he hoisted Otae onto his back to now, when he was physically nearing his wits end.

This evening had gone on long enough.

"Almost there...You think you can walk the rest of the way? Otae?"

"...".

"Goddammit".

The bitch really did fall into slumber land of imagination and magic - Fuck everything. Gintoki pushed himself onward. Leaving her alone in front of the house was out of the question if he was dead-set on keeping his morals in tact. Might as well carry her all the way inside. Shinpachi could pick up the baggage; God knows he's used to it by now, poor kid.

Gintoki, aching to reach the front door, didn't stop to take in the scale of this house. A former dojo such as this was a rarity. It's foundation continued to stand, it's only occupants persistently dusting the furniture and stocking its fridge. Commendable, really. All the harassment of debt-collectors went to waste in a matter of months, as Gintoki could plainly recall.

The front doors slid open upon Gintoki's slow approach. The straight-laced pair of glasses standing by the door didn't waste a whole lot of time before jumping to Gintoki's aid.

"Geez, Sis'!" Was his immediate greeting, running out into the yard in a pair of sandals without socks. "How drunk did you get for Gin-san to bring you home? Hey, Gin-san".

Shinpachi worked between meeting Gintoki again and grabbing his older sister from his back.

"Yo, been a while, Patsuan".

"Yeah, uh...Have you got time? 'Cause we can talk inside - Unless you're busy-".

Shinpachi let Otae lean on him. He was most definitely shorter than her but his efforts didn't go in vain as he tried his best to carry her inside.

"-Nah, nah. It's whatever. I could use a minute to rest anyway".

"Great...Then do you mind doing one more job? You mind laying out a futon for Sis'? Please?"

"Yeah, yeah - Sure. Better than dragging her ass through your ridiculously spacious house".

Gintoki, scratching the back of his head, walked on ahead towards the front door, half-assed when excusing himself for intruding. He purposefully pushed his spine forward with his hands until the bone made an echoed cracking noise. Pain proceeded but didn't debilitate Gintoki's ability to walk. From the main bedroom down the hall he found the closet dedicated solely to bedding. From it he pulled out the first futon available - Whether it was a boyish blue or unattractive yellow didn't matter to him.

Eventually Shinpachi dragged his sister inside and gently laid her to rest underneath the futon's cover, and even an extra blanket to keep the cold out.

"Haah, I didn't think she'd be so careless," Shinpachi sighed out his words, exerted to the point where his glasses were on the brink of fogging up.

He joined Gintoki in the hallway, who was stripping away his suit jacket. The stiff shoulders had been holding his muscles hostage up until now. Having been invited into a homely environment gave him automatic permission to make himself comfortable. Shinpachi wouldn't argue over it either.

"I don't know what's worse," Gintoki muttered, throwing the jacket over his shoulder. "A drunk Otae or a sober one - I'm starting to think there's very little difference in their behaviour patterns".

"Heh, yeah...Kinda wish I didn't have to greet you with a favour".

"Nah, don't worry about it. It's not like we're long-distance cousins or anything; ya don't need to be polite to me out of etiquette. I'd much prefer it if you asked where the hell I've been, and called me a stupid curly head".

"I was getting around to it".

"Well you were too slow and the moment's past. You do that again and I'm personally revoking your straight-man quota".

"That isn't even a thing! You're just trying to reduce my character down to nothing - And I've only just appeared!"

"There ya go, Pachie-boy! I don't think anyone can replace you anyway, you're a natural when it comes to bouncing off of other people. That's your character: a bouncer".

Shinpachi scowled, unamused, at Gintoki. Nothing he could say could deny the facts so he restrained himself. Though now, after all this time, he was very close to kicking Gintoki out of the house five minutes into their reunion.

"...I'm gonna make some tea".

But he held back...And prepared some tea through his annoyance.

...

"Did Sis' really say that?"

In the living room, which was essentially a floor and an ankle-high table, Gintoki and Shinpachi sat together conversing over freshly made green tea - The cheap stuff, nothing fancy - Not under this crumbling roof of debt and potential stalkers. 

"Word for word. But don't tell her I told you 'cause I doubt that woman will remember me doing the right thing by carrying her home, and her knuckles are like...No, she's like...Kenshiro and Jonathan! It's just sheer force and a lotta deep-seated anger!"

"You've been reading too much _Jump_ \- And at your age to boot! Plus, aren't they basically the same person?"

"Anyway...".

Gintoki sipped his tea, brushing off Shinpachi's judgemental glare - more so directed at Jump than Gintoki himself. 

" _Anyway._ Sis' has got it all wrong - Well, she's only half-right. Sure, I'm...concerned about you, Gin-san, but it's not like I don't trust you to come out of a situation alive. I've seen you tackle worse - and that had nothing to do with your work".

"Glad you understand".

"I do. I mean you're not _invincible_ , but you're pretty strong. A pretty strong moron, that is".

"Oi, who's the moron here? Wouldn't that make you a moron too? I'm just surrounded by morons today. You, your sister and that mayo-suckin' cop. All moronic in your own right".

"Just to clarify, I'm not gonna fall apart if you get hurt, Gin-san. I know you'll manage". 

"What about when they found that yakuza in the Kanda River? Otae said you were in pieces". 

"Y-yeah, I panicked - But I wanted to believe I was wrong. Sis' is exaggerating the story way too much". 

"I'll say...You know you guys don't have to worry. I'm a fighter - Always have been". 

"I know". 

Shinpachi was nodding his head along. He hadn't heard these words before - At least Gintoki didn't think so. However it was abundantly clear that he understood them a-hundred percent. That gave Gintoki some confidence that this kid was tougher than Otae made him out to be. What a pleasant surprise. Either that or he was seething through all his biggest concerns, wanting to hold onto the faith that Gintoki wasn't one to die so easily. Either way the kid was brave in his own right, and Gintoki only contained the utmost admiration for that. 

Keeping it to himself had nothing to do with being embarrassed - It was more a man-to-man thing where he didn't have to spell it out but instead smile and roughly pat Shinpachi on the back. 

"Are you planning to stay much longer?" 

"I can't - Gotta get home eventually. I'm beat". 

"I was gonna suggest that you stay here tonight if you want. Saves you the walk back, and I'll even make breakfast. Good thing too, since Sis' will still be passed-out tomorrow morning". 

"Well, since you're offering...". 

Shinpachi smiled, pleased. Gintoki wasn't whole-heartedly comfortable about staying over. Then again it had been too long since they saw each other. Shinpachi probably wanted to catch up on all of Gintoki's life-threatening misadventures - Providing him with a good excuse to lecture his elder over how much of a moron he was. 

Wait until they got to the blistered hand story... 

...

Otose's bar was a small but well-known establishment packed in between the quieter side of the Red Light District. Granted it was more prominent to older men with enough complaints about work and their wives to fill a book or two. Time was drifting into the later hours. The place was gradually emptying and the number of drunken old men stumbling around Kabukicho tonight could only exceed the owner, Otose's, concerns. 

Sitting by the bar after committing her time to wiping tables and sweeping the floors was a very young woman, her hair tied up neatly and her eyes suddenly unfocused on work. 

"Tama...". Otose called to her from the front entrance, from which she took down the shop's banner. "We're closing, so you should head to bed already...Tama?" 

"...! Oh, alright, Otose-sama". 

"What's the matter? You've been infatuated with that letter since you got it". 

In Tama's hands there lay a plain letter, crumbled at the sides due to the number of times she had grasped it. And it had only arrived recently. Otose peered over her shoulder, clicking her tongue through mild irritation. 

"Throw it out already; he's no good". 

"I'm sorry, Otose-san, but how do you know who it's from?" 

"Gengai told me". 

"Oh...". Her reaction was flat. In all honestly she wasn't all that surprised. Otose gained her information one way or another, especially if it was out of concern or pure determination. 

"But it's for your own good - He's not worth it. Did he send you anything?" 

"Yes, but...". 

"Send it back. And make sure he doesn't send anything else. Goddamn nuisance". 

"I was going to, but there was no return address on the envelope - It came by courier". 

"So he's not stupid enough to pour out his address too...He's lucky, for now". 

Her undisguised threat had Tama knitting her eyebrows together. She couldn't help but feel sickly at Otose's disdain. 

"Tama, listen to me," Otose took a seat beside Tama on the next bar stool over. From her sweater sleeve she picked out a pack of cigarettes - A distasteful brand that Tama had officially gotten used to by now. "You don't have to feel bad for the guy. Like I said, he's not worth the trouble if all he does is cause it". 

"It's not that I sympathise with him...It's...different". 

"You don't have feelings for him, do you?" 

"It's not that either. I'm...having trouble verbalising it. I suppose...I understand him, but at the same time I don't understand him at all. The situation isn't so black and white that I can describe my feelings on it". 

"Mm. We've all been there, honey. But you ought to give this guy a pass, for your own safety". 

"...If that's what you feel is right. Gintoki-sama would probably say the same thing". 

"If Gintoki were involved, that guy wouldn't have the fingers to write you letters anymore, trust me". 

"I don't doubt that". 

Tama cracked a smile at the thought. Although she was aware that it was somewhat wrong to picture Gintoki Sakata in a blind rage. Rather than heartlessly crumpling up the letter she folded and stored it in her apron pocket to be kept safe. She didn't mind holding onto it - She didn't see that as a threat, but she did know waiting silently would make things more complicated. 

"Do you think I could hire a courier as well? It doesn't feel right keeping gifts that I shouldn't keep". 

"I'll find a way for you," Otose said, blowing out a thick puff of smoke. "You leave that to me, okay?" 

"Thank you, Otose-san. Um...I think I still have to take out the trash before I go to bed. I'll be right back". 

By "trash", Tama was determined to lug around the recycling box outside and to the dark alleyway beside the snack house. She did so with caution. Taking her time meant extra strain on the hands but rushing was a risk she couldn't take. She bent down and placed the box of glass bottles next to the usual trash cans which were brimming and stinking up the alleyway by themselves. A distinct draft of alcohol wavered through the very foundation of both buildings on either side of each other. 

Tama backed off from the stench, wiping the remnants of alcohol from her hands onto her apron as she returned to the snack house. Before she entered the now darkened bar, due to its closing, she paused and found herself looking up towards the taller buildings in the distance as though she were being watched from afar. 

She wasn't. That much was clear. It wasn't possible. 

On the downside, she had a feeling. A mere feeling turning in her stomach. She came to ignore it soon enough, walking back inside. Other thoughts occupied her mind, replacing her doubts and momentary concerns over an invisible pair of eyes, or even a thought in someone else's head that revolved around her. Ridiculous - A feeling was nothing but that after all. 

... 

On the opposite side of the snack house, in the farther reaches of Kabukicho's office-oriented districts, there sat one such place shrouded from all the others, practically invisible to the naked eye if you have no idea where to look exactly. Nothing but a tall lamp shed light inside said office. It's glow reflected the window, and a face. 

A man occupied the chair in front of the main desk. It was smaller in size, less important, but at the centre of the larger chair's attention. And yet it's supposed occupant was staring at the window, failing to offer his client a glance as he was taking a wander around his own mind. 

"I gotta say, you work fast. How long you been in this business?" The man asked with a sudden burst of confidence and comfort within this all but comforting room. 

"I can't tell you exactly, but I can assure you, I've been doing it long enough to be considered a professional". 

"Fair enough". 

"And remember, you don't know me. If you get caught, I don't exist - You understand?" 

"Oh, don't worry 'bout that. This isn't my job - I'm doin' this for a...colleague, shall we say?" The man spoke so flatly there that his apathy was as transparent as the windows adorning the back wall. "He's stuck in the pen right now and, for some reason, wants this guy's head - needs information. If anyone's at risk of getting caught, it's him". 

"That's fine then". 

"I don't even wanna know why he wants to take out this guy - He doesn't look all that important. Looks more like a thug to me". 

The man was grasping a tall, brown envelope in his hand. For discretions sake, obviously. But in the hands of someone who naturally looks shady, one can't help but question the contents of the envelope...If they cared enough. From the envelope he pulled out a photograph, heavily judging the appearance of the person featured - Contrary to his own style of disarray and carelessness. 

The most distinct features of the photograph, as personally noted by the man - This client - was a lack of life reflected in the eyes and a head of messy, silver hair. 

"I wouldn't underestimate him," The man at the window spoke ominously, but sincerely all the same. "Oh, by the way, as a part of my payment...". 

"Hey, I already gave ya what you're owed - We agreed that-". 

"-I know what we agreed. I'm just asking for one, little favour". 

"Whazzat?" 

"When you visit your friend tomorrow morning to give him and this hired help all the info they need, don't mention that the target is yakuza". 

"...? I was kinda wonderin' 'bout that myself - Why not?" 

"Because if they find out he's yakuza, they'll back out of the job". 

The man by the window didn't hesitate to sound sarcastic when the opportunity was handed to him. 

"Well, yeah, I suppose anyone in their right mind would. Ahh, but I suppose you just don't wanna start handin' out refunds, is that it?" 

"It's not just that...No. I want to see the outcome. It sounds quite entertaining, don't you think? Sadly I won't be able to watch up close, but rumours spread fast in this little industry of mine, so I think simply listening to the story will have to do to ease my boredom. It could be quite riveting either way". 

"Man, you are one disturbed dude...". 

"Maybe so. But in this town searching for anyone who's completely sound of mind is quite the feat', like looking for a couple sharp needles in a haystack". 

"Very true..." 

"Now are we done here? I'd like to return to my work". The man by the window turned around. A charming smirk had appeared across his lips, the glow of the lamp emphasising its shape - Making the curves of his lips seem wider and far more sinister than they actually were. 

"You got it, pretty boy. It's a shame but I doubt I'll ever see that gorgeous mug of yours ever again". 

"I think that's for the best".

The man stood up, envelope clutched in his hand. He smiled also, patting down his lapel before gradually taking his leave. 

"By the way, I didn't catch your name. From what I know, ya use a pen name. Pretty sure my colleague mentioned it but...". 

"Hm...It's Kin-san. Tell your friend and his hired help "good luck" on my behalf. I'm sure they'll have a hell of a time with this job".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsundere Matako is tsundere. Only, towards Takasugi she's all "dere dere" and Bansai gets all the "tsun tsun" because that's how male best friends work.
> 
> Next chapter, we'll dive into the story.
> 
> Feels like I started this years ago, but I'm pushing on. Everyone else enjoying it? Now that I can get the main plot started I'll have plenty more to write about. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the support! Hope that everyone (when this chapter came out) had a good Christmas, and I hope everyone has a good year!
> 
> This was a good year, to a certain extent. 2018's probably going to be a bitch, but let's pray that it's not going to be as bad as 2016. Good thing we have some interesting new anime coming out - Like a Junji Ito short collection and, of course, Gintama's final arc (it saddens me every day to think about, especially with the manga coming to a close).
> 
> Vento Aureo has not been confirmed though, and that kills me inside, but we can't let ourselves cry over spilled, filthy, disgusting milk, now can we.

**Author's Note:**

> Even as the writer, I feel bizarre about the mixed tags of some complex, and even gritty themes that are going into this story - and then there's all the gay fluff and comedy side of Gintama.
> 
> This is what I went with - if you don't like what you read, I'll take criticism with an open mind. It's freedom of speech. If it helps, I'll treat every chapter with care and I won't rush to get out updates unless someone yells at me from behind their screen. Thanks
> 
> (kitty face) :3


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